Phoenix
by Foxes' Dreams
Summary: Tense with the anguish of spiritual struggle, Chase is no longer able to defeat the trauma of being alone. Even though he had been missing Cameron's cautious whispers of innocence and complexity, her return might be the real approach of doom. Set in mid season 8.
1. Chapter 1 - Jaded

Phoenix

T.V. Show: House MD

Pairing: Chase/Cameron

Author: Foxes' Dreams

Summary: Tense with the anguish of spiritual struggle, Chase is no longer able to defeat the trauma of being alone. Even though he had been missing Cameron's cautious whispers of innocence and complexity, her return might be the real approach of doom.

* * *

Chapter 1 - Jaded

Chase agonizingly felt his soul, his dimity dying. He laid in peaceful quiet, barely covered by the silk sheets of the old bed he didn't bother to arrange every morning. He was aware of the fact that he used to sniffle the fruity, exotic smell of his ex-wife's blonde curls. He could still touch and observe his former lover's embossed features, and the feather-like skin he caressed in most intimate moments, when they were both lost in the mutual attraction and waves of euphoria.

But, all things have a start and an end, and their finality proved to be a catastrophic, bittersweet one, marked by the heartbreaking effect it had on them. His nightmares were sometimes vivid, plagued with emotion and intensity. Behind his tightly closed eyelids, there was always a conflict of interests.

Sometimes, he felt the immediate surge to take the first plane to Chicago and to put all his past mistakes in order and in the darkest times, he blamed himself mostly for over-caring.

The night was charged with negative impulses, his body becoming a temple of powerful sins he was not prepared to overcome. The late-night slips had become a lethal addiction for him. He found himself being trapped in the poisonous world of guilty pleasures. His behavior and demeanor had changed, he was the exact definition of a blossoming self-destructive man.

Chase extended his arm just to touch a bare, cold shoulder being supported on the lilac pillow. He inertly groaned as he remembered the perilous, strenuous activities that he used as an excuse for self-loathing. He saw a dim light coming out from the small, coquettish bathroom and he quickly slapped hard his spiritually injured chest with his chiseled palm as an internal auto-punishment.

The alcohol was violently rushing through his veins and Chase could swear he could feel his head pounding loudly with greasy contents and his heart echoing off the unstylish, grey-hued walls.

Water is essential for life and Chase's medical mind instructed him to hydrate his body. He slowly got up and tested the shallow, wooden floor. His frozen feet brushed the uniform tiles of oak wood into which heavy drops of vodka had infiltrated in a matter of seconds. He wasn't able to recognize himself in the narrow mirror, partially masked by a cloak of smoke, which derived from his insane attempt to drown into sorrow. He noticed the motionless body laying in the uncomfortable bathtub, but he paid no special attention to it since all the nightly profanities would transform into dissolution when Chase regained his professional composure.

His palms were painfully rigid and stiffened, his brawny chest was crossed by deeply imaginary and bleeding scars, a fatal memory of his intoxicating behavior which had become strictly regular. Chase splashed his overworked face with cold, frigid water, trying continually to make contact with the harsh reality. His head throbbed agonizingly as he imagined his last passionate encounter with Cameron. He instantly prayed for a moment of calmness without her ghostly fingertips haunting his tensed jawline.

He was drowning in regret, a voiceless sigh escaping his slightly swollen lips, images of Cameron flashing before his passive and irresponsive eyes. He was still conscious, with his delineate judgement only partially affected, but still he couldn't escape the occasional guilt. He was sometimes buoyed by the salient taste of losing. He hid dozens of crucial retorts behind his mask of an adequate, idle figure,irrationally vulnerable and forever altered.

A vague sense of homelessness crept in the pit of his stomach, a labyrinthine rush of acidity and metallic taste occupying his capability of actually distinguishing normalcy and a strangely ritualistic feeling. Chase felt oddly intrusive even though he was resting in his own canopy bed, the shifting idea of trespassing a personal boundary scrutinizing that particular night. Tension fell away to an oddly somber hush, an unexpected pang of exhaustion defeating any sensation of betrayal or potential ruin. He ignored his function of harmless observer, all the miserable things that vied for attention fading progressively as he drifted into inaction, into a bereft nap.

The dawn showed itself in the pitch-black horizon, displaying only a foggy, humid atmosphere, a cumbrestone and slow day crowning in the silent and misjudged timeline. Chase was still poised on the edge of precipice, balancing between sin and confidence, as a reckless, overwhelming pain contorted all his limbs. He was still not ready to face a newly whirling beginning, but he still got up from the crumpled bed, whimpering sympathetically at the transition. The agonizing haze of a brutal hangover made him feel dizzy, almost stumbling over an article of clothing thrown carelessly on the dusty and slightly moldy floor.

On wobbly feet, he walked to the closet that was in his close proximity, not even bothering to rinse the negative layer of disillusionment and orgy. Chase was still trapped to in a deliberate scheme of forgetting and forgiving, a plan of which results failed to lighten up the cracked and irreparable soul. He figured a paraphernalia of illness, victimizing himself and retreating in a cocoon of regrets where he could mourn the letdown without any interruptions.

His silver-grey shirt was obviously crumpled, his shoes slightly muddy and traced by wrinkles, the whole outfit impaired and uncoordinated.

With no other word or logical phrase, he left, feeling the rainy weather of Princeton ingraining in his pores.

* * *

The frigid drops of rain seemed to have no effect on Chase, he was basally allowing miniature ice cubs to cascade down his deep frown. He walked into the hospital with punctuated steps, hiding himself behind a mask of glassy-eyes impassivity. He received genuine stares of worry from a couple of nurses as they started to realize how serious his strongly colored dark circles that bluntly covered his face were.

His face seemed to blotchy, somehow continually bloated with unshed tears that had been striving for an outlet ever since Cameron's exit from his life.

He entered the lounge of the diagnostic department wordlessly, his dark hued coat and leather briefcase landing carelessly on a chair as though he poured out white eel from within.

House's somber figure came into the room along with its arrogant figure and a voice ready to be between contemptuous amusement and actual malice. Instantly, pairs of eyes scrutinized him mercilessly, exhaling only pitiful whimpers.

"So, wombat. Hard night? Too many hookers getting into your pants, too much booze for you to handle?" House said with his normal acidity, the conceited smile breaking dimples in his cheeks.

"Don't we have actual medical cases to solve?" Chase retorted just as bitterly, fumbling with the leather case of the file as though it was an inconsequential burning.

"Thirty year old male, presented to the ER with abnormal sounds during breathing, copious salivation and spontaneous facial cyanosis," He continued with his voice equal and stern, with no curiosity hidden behind his tone.

"Eosinophilic pneumonia could explain the difficulty in breathing," Masters tried to interfere, failing to assess basic notions and receiving only hazily cloudy huffs in response.

"It doesn't cause acute cyanosis. How about pellagra? A severe vitamin B3 deficiency might explain the excessive salivation," Foreman contraindicated, punctuating his opinion with a sneer or more likely a grim scowl.

It was as thought the sense of collectivity was crashing down, fatal dozes of venom veneering between them.

"Vitamin B3 has nothing to do with the lungs. But the serotonin syndrome can explain all his conditions, especially since we don't know any previous medication he had taken," Taub adventured himself in the diagnosis, digits chanting on the glass table. He felt refuted, completely demure and appealing, in contrast to Chase, who was in a rankling shadow.

"The tox screen ER performed was negative. The substances need to be in his bloodstream to onset the syndrome," Foreman dodged, dissolving another plausible explanation.

"Pulmonary fibrosis can easily affect the lungs hard enough to produce abnormal sounds during breathing," Masters indicated, toes curling under the pressure of being new. She felt oddly intrusive, sensing people staring at her with pure resentment.

"No, it doesn't harm the salivary glands. Nothing fits perfectly," Taub raised his voice indulgently, every little drop of hope perishing. He seemed beyond exhausted, his head supporting itself in the rigidity of his palms.

A stolid silence pervaded the atmosphere. The case seemed to be indescribably difficulty, especially with Chase's minimal implication. Sorrow was coming in waves and he was drowning in that fastidious morning.

"The guy has a tracheoesophageal fistula. It is the only rational option. Moreover his medical record shows that he was polyhidraminous in the uterus. That's the classic sign for a fistula," Chase explained indecisively, with his words so cold and despaired. His eyes were utterly transfixed to the file, he was fruitfully ignoring his colleagues.

"Fistulas are extremely rare in adults," Masters began to disagree, shyness creeping into her volatile voice.

"Have we ever dealt with something normal?" Chase retorted harshly, between gritted teeth. His blood was pulsating incoherently in his veins, tension coming to the ultimate breaking point.

"Do some plain chest radiographies to confirm," House said with his dim satisfaction dazzling within him. "And better book the OR for a laryngectomy," He continued, puffing air out of his body, transmitting around him the virtue odor of pills and freshly brewed coffee.

After being dismissed with their usual tasks, the team was slowly traversing the glass door when House's metallic and commonly zealous voice interrupted their routine.

"Doctor Chase," He called, redolently moving a reddish lollipop between his ardent lips. His composure was as always oscillating between intimidating and jokingly, with his legs propped on the desk.

"I'm not in the mood for any of your reckless mind-games, House," Chase said monotonously, barely making the minimal effort to fully turn.

"You're going to a conference on general surgery in Atlanta," House announced with the maximum level of clearness in his demeanor.

"No, I'm not," Chase reacted immediately, frowning deeply and clenching the side of his jaw. His mechanism of defense was once more activated.

"You'd better pack your thingies, kangaroo. New land is coming," House said in the same comradely sassiness. He eyed his employee with gloomy insistence, trying to decipher why he was so hesitant.

"Can't you stop with this crap and tell me the actual reason why you're sending me," Chase contorted into words, feeling a sense of helplessness coiling in the pit of his stomach whilst his fist jabbed the side of his trousers.

"Cuddy is enough reason for both of us," House reasoned, the lollipop perilously dangling off his slender fingers.

"Why should I-" Chase tried vainly to intervene, to change the almost imminent departure. He was unwilling to leave Princeton, his energy was completely drained from his veins.

"Your flight is tonight," House announced with gruesome patience. It was lukewarm obvious he was aware of what the conference might bring Chase into vision.

He left the bureau with a sort of trampled and inward protest, feeling not only panicky, but also trapped in a world where nobody could tell him anything bluntly, with numerous further confusing additions.

Chase bypassed his colleagues irresponsibly, feeling their confused gazes bewilder the cruel and methodic drama that was unfolding in front of him. He just strode with nothing but a strong facade of fussy diffuseness claiming his contracted face.

 **Author's Note:** This great prompt was given to me by red-lighting. I quickly fell in love with it, so I hope we can all share this feeling. Basically, it is my summer challenge, my first chance to write a novel.

Read and Review! :*


	2. Chapter 2 - Contrary

Phoenix

T.V. Show: House MD

Pairing: Chase/Cameron

Author: Foxes' Dreams

Summary: Tense with the anguish of spiritual struggle, Chase is no longer able to defeat the trauma of being alone. Even though he had been missing Cameron's cautious whispers of innocence and complexity, her return might be the real approach of doom.

* * *

Chapter 2 - Contrary

The ineffable splendor of dawn seemed to be nonexistent, drops imbued with water and ice falling like silvery swords. The atmosphere parted to a liquid horizon, shy razes of sunshine filtering through the treetops, which were saturated with vernal freshness.

Chase was close to running, desperately seeking to escape the encumbered airport and to hopefully slumber into unconsciousness. The whole conference seemed just a puerile paraphernalia for him or most likely one of House's hermetically sealed and heretical traps.

The car ride to the local motel was mostly like an illuminating insight of Atlanta, beside its colorless border. He squeezed himself on the lengthy banquette, slowly feeling the illusive touch of artificial warmness and pine perfume. His superficially packed luggage was balancing precariously on his lap, the magnanimous weight almost unrecognizable to him.

The motel seemed to be a furtive replica of an oddly built, three story conjunction. Chase could only exhale a loud huff of resentment and disappointment, his instincts confirming his worst fears. He walked into the reception with sluggish rain prickling his face and his head bowed.

His room was just a blind choreography of grey furniture and white curtains. It was not only a chromatic nightmare, but also the strange incarnation of Chase's corruptible inconsistency.

He was more or less dazed in front of this mortifying image. He crashed on the bed with a loud thump, heavily breathing and desperately looking for the usual, pleasurable burn of alcohol. Behind closed eyelids, Chase was finally at ease, feeling a surreal tranquility which had bypassed him lately.

His pupils became suddenly responsive, the laudable zeal of insomnia overcoming him as always. Little traces of mold grazed the corners of the ceiling, Chase's stomach instantly lurking on the verge of becoming sick. It was more like an elixir of latent memories, Cameron's perfectionist abilities lashing scorn.

Her graceful fingers used to brush every insanitary surface, despair and acquiescence crawling in her attitude. She was the genuine definition of a menacing, dedicated worker, never giving up on any difficult task. Her mendacious tongue and mercenary view were always in action, critiquing herself and repeating until flawlessness.

Chase vainly tried to shove this distant thought from his bustling mind, even though he continually dealt with her everlasting, phantasmal resence.

With merciless censor, the wall clock showed the vicious hour of 3 am when sleep finally won the battle for the dominance of his body.

* * *

Chase was writhing in the tight grip of apprehension, hands trembling terribly as he was vainly trying to rearrange the gels in perfect order. It was as though he was trapped in the unwanted past, with mundane tasks at his hand. It was merited ridicule, but it was a welcoming distraction.

"Robbie?" A guttural voice unpredictably called from behind his tensed back. "As in Robert Chase?" The tone continued, invoking the loud, the sudden and the meretricious in his conversed mind.

"Oh, hey! Fred Johnson, right?" Chase instantly remembered, recognizing the mercurial temperament he dealt with during residential years.

Fred was a remotely faced mignonette with dazzling, brown strands cradling the frame of his shoulders. He was identically copied as the younger version of himself, only small wrinkles changing his appearance. His creamy-hued tailored pants and scarlet shirt looked impeccably ironed, his distinctive outfit giving him power.

"Oh my God, it's been years. You haven't changed much since our residential years," Fred parroted, feeling the wave of memories overwhelming him. He was just as surprised as Chase to meet him, in the dim and grayish light of the lab.

"But you did. Where did the frizzy, punk hairstyle go?" Chase said with a cheshire grin. He was entangled in a paradox, not even knowing how to approach the situation, often stumbling over words.

"You know, surgery really tamed me. What's up with the beard? You've finally skipped the pretty boy act?" Fred dissed the polite act and went on mocking his old acquaintance who seemingly stepped into light.

"It attracts more chicks than you might think. So would have the punk hairstyle if you had kept it," Chase advised, raising one glass tube to his companion's face, proving his fairly obvious point.

"But a friend of mine told me you got married. Wasn't that true?" Fred said willingly, testing new perplexities and leaning in to support himself on the polished table.

It was a nervous solicitude for Chase, almost a nimble faculty the world seemed to be revolving around.

"Actually I did, but it didn't work out. Eventually, we filed for a divorce," Chase said simply, avoiding his piercing gaze. Instead, he busied himself with combining different substances in an amalgam, just to forget.

"I'm really sorry," Fred said with noble condescension while touching Chase's shoulder. He just seized up and retracted his body. "Have you spoken to anyone about that?" He offered, trying to ameliorated the heartbreaking sensation.

"I can handle my personal problems, Fred. I appreciate your concern, but I already passed through the grieving phrase," Chase tried to reason, deep down knowing that he was singularly acute and responsible for dissolving this issue.

"Did you really do that? Because you seem a little hungover to me, bud," Fred said, challenging Chase's dissent. His dilated pupils, his ravaged appearance, his apathy were all leading to disaster.

"A man has needs, you know. And this is one of those needs," Chase replied, smartly avoiding the subject of his inquisitorial one-night stands. "You've seen me in worse situations. At the ending party, you collected me from underneath the tables," He continued, appealing to endearing memories and trimming the actual feeling.

"Yeah, good memories," Fred stated with obscure joy. "Don't try to deflect. Two people don't get stupidly married. They love and care for each other. So what happened? I'm pretty sure there's an explanation behind," He insisted, determined to defeat those meanders Chase was trying to build around him.

He was mostly hiding behind a sterile mask and overall with obsolete defiance. Fred's question came as a thunder, enlarging the wound in his heart. The utensils he was using fell on the hard surface, chattering.

"We just didn't get along. That's it. There wasn't any drama behind it, I swear. People sometimes fail, you know?" Chase said, emphasizing every single word. His fist contracted and then relaxed, obtrusively settling itself on the metallic desk, far away from the scattered medical equipment.

"Okay, I'll take it as you say. So, have you started diving in back?" Fred asked with no hidden intention. Chase's ominous rejections had no effect on him, he was utterly motivated to eliminate his mingling depression.

"Not really. Work has been exhausting lately," Chase said in reply, the omniscient and reduced affirmation stirring Fred more into action.

"Right, you're working with that grouchy limp, House," Fred realized, the perusing earnestness of his ideas flowing freely.

"He's brilliant," Chase said simply, objectively. The response sounded like he was House's advocate, trying unsuccessfully to avoid talking about his tenebrous methods.

"I didn't say he isn't. But everyone says he's a jackass," Fred continued, speaking only words of truth. House's reputation had spread with phlegmatic acuteness, like the spring breeze.

"He can sometimes be impossible. But, he cares about the patients and strains himself to help them," Chase trued with lengthy effort to clear House's name. He was under his despotic influence, unconcealed and controlled.

"Cares so much that he doesn't want to see his patients," Fred argued, proving he knows deeply imprinted secrets. "Word travels fast," He leaned even more, showing photographic exactitude. He wrinkled his nose purposefully.

"He has his unorthodox ways. What matters is the outcome. And in most of the times, we save the patient," Chase continued his all too defensive discourse, eagerly wanting to eradicate such a truculent opinion. He remained motionless through the exposure of his point, his hands freezing on the counter and eyes transfixing the nucleus of the substances.

"Whatever you say brother," Fred said without elaborating any other lines of contradictions. He virtually stood upright with dizzying velocity. "Let's forget about work. So, tonight it's a special dinner and I heard that the chicks from immunologic pathology will be there," He suggested, not knowing that Chase's dalliance with love had been disastrous, almost bone crushing and embellishing.

"Not interested," Chase cut off the conversation shortly and decisively, quivering to stop all those pretentious requests.

"Oh, come on! Live a little. A failed marriage shouldn't destroy your life," Fred said sourly, unaware of the pious pain Chase had been experiencing. He braced himself on the table, shielding a composure that couldn't take no as an answer.

"Fine. Only this time," Chase accepted after his heavily resigning episode. Letting love pervade his veins again seemed to be dauntless, an approach cloaked in prim pretense.

The eerie clattering of the medical utensils put them back into practice. The vibrant buzzing of the substances created a cloudy haze that made the air truly chocking. The placid and rowdy colors of the lab were calming to Chase, reminding him of how impersonal he had become.

* * *

The coquettish dinner was exactly how Chase promptly imagined. A dreary room with mismatched brownish decorations chosen with pitiless precision. It was like everyone treated this meeting with vindicated coldness and malicious reaction. Small groups were sinking in what seemed to be plainspoken rebuke or mundane debate regarding the medical field.

Chase, with his abhorrent outfit was standing near the door with a glass of liquor precariously dangling in his hand. Deep down, memories of his numerous hangovers became plausible commonplaces, always in his peripheral sight.

"Is this a party or a funeral? Nobody is doing anything," Chase complained with a whine, leaving no plaintive cadence or candor.

"Can you please stop this? It's barely seven o'clock. It will come alive later," Fred replied harshly, growing progressively tired of his rapacious pessimism. With the outfit matched to the etiquette and carefully sipping a pretentious cocktail, Fred stood awkwardly and watched, praying with rapturous ardor to see the dinner get more animated.

"I don't see the hot chicks you've promised me. I'm going back to my room," Chase threatened lamely, showing not even some rarefied humor. With a surge from his insides, Chase was close to exiting the hall.

"Don't you even dare walk out," Fred said half-jokingly, half-seriously. He was thoroughly enjoying the ravishing spectacle Chase was unconsciously trying to create.

"You know how ladies are, always paying too much attention to details. Probably they are all in a hotel room, fixing their makeup," Fred tried to convince Chase, invoking the same stereotype of the females.

"Yeah, yeah. I just hope this isn't a lame lie to get me out of my room. I have tons of medical journals to read," Chase said acidly, playing the role of the dedicated attending. He was more or less acting with remarkable sagacity, with alcohol chasing down his veins.

"Oh, here they are. Let's introduce you to some girls," Fred said eagerly, ignoring Chase's scoffing defiance by dragging him across the room.

Chase was just starting to distinguish some languish forms that looked like middle-aged women. He was walking with secret dismay, reluctantly wanting to engage in such seditious conversations. He was boiling for some physical release, not a sort of closeness. A weird sort of distance rose from his inner sepulchers with serpentine curves. Instantly, he felt lightheaded.

Wearing some slavish imitation of capri pants and pink chemise, a silhouette came into his view, immediately slackening the tension building within him. A mass of blonde curls, cascading gracefully on the person's neck sent Chase's world into imminent collapse.

"Allison?"

 **Author's Note:** What a cliffhanger! I'm getting the taste of them.

Read and Review! :*


	3. Chapter 3 - Unexpected

Phoenix

T.V. Show: House MD

Pairing: Chase/Cameron

Author: Foxes' Dreams

Summary: Tense with the anguish of spiritual struggle, Chase is no longer able to defeat the trauma of being alone. Even though he had been missing Cameron's cautious whispers of innocence and complexity, her return might be the real approach of doom.

* * *

Chapter 3 - Unexpected

It was a sluggish reaction, one that Chase condemned himself for gasping out loud.

"Allison?"

She turned around sharply, with a vanquished sigh, knowing all the inflections he used to put in his tone. Cameron looked utterly changed, somehow scandalized and awestruck by the meeting. Her blonde strands were freely flowing down her shoulders, showing some sorely beset grey roots at the crown of her head. The year spent apart seemed to be a full decade, solemn emanations falling exactly on her.

The sonorous simplicity of her outfit looked abnormal to Chase. The pink camisole and the plain pants were outstandingly tamed as though they were chosen with tacit energy. She was the exact opposite of the powerful female she portrayed in Princeton. Definitely, the time hit her with complacency, an enigma creeping in her eyes.

Cameron was staring blankly at him, mostly recognizing him as the temerarious ghost of the past. Arms glued to the sides, stature stoic and frozen, her defense walls were crumbling in front of this unprecedented situation.

"Wait, do you know each other?" Fred inquired so innocently, not knowing the terse complexities that happened between them. He even glided his thin finger in the air, trying to comprehend what was happening.

"We're old acquaintances," Cameron said sharply, eying Fred with suspicion. Even her voice was engraved with tough emphasis, seemingly it was radical and stonily cold.

Chase could only gaze with impassivity, a threadbare sentiment running through him. He was trampling on inward protest, trying to decide if he should act in a single way.

"Are you sure?" Fred dug further. "Because it seems there is a lot of tension between you," He said, feeling the propensities flying with no boundary.

Chase and Cameron's eye sights intersected with unavailing consolation. Electricity propagated between them, leaving them breathless and flushed with crimson.

"It's nothing. Drop it," Cameron said with fearsome strength. Her unbiased judgement was already in control of her mind and with one single twirl, she walked away, vaporizing in the dense crowd of people.

Fred walked towards Chase, wanting to clear away any voracious animosity running between them. "What have just happened here?" He asked with no reservations.

"I just need a gulp of air. I'll be right back," Chase said ostentatiously, leaving without other explanations. Her head was down and his steps irregular and fast-paced. He was craving a moment for himself, especially when his calmness became wayward.

Fred followed him with a deep frown on his forehead, wondering what wedded incompatibility could have happened. He was desperate to apologize, even without knowing the actual reason.

Then, he strolled around the feisty table, wandering relentlessly to clear the tormenting thoughts he might elaborate.

* * *

Right outside, there was a slightly pouring rain, a breeze of leaf remains and ice diamonds grazing Chase's stubbly cheekbones.

His tie was waltzing like it was dealing with a hurricane, the horrible weather blurring the vision of his flint-blue eyes. Even with the vicious storm growing in front of him, he needed to escape that masquerade, where Cameron was the phantom of his gregarious mistakes.

With shaking hands, which were almost close to convulsing, he dialed a number that always provided a basic level of comfort, even if it was mixed with gratuitous rudeness.

"Foreman?" Chase said with the essence of shyness in his voice. He was aware of the fact he was running with panicky energy, seeking advice in someone who could sometimes be full of truculence and irony.

"Hey man. How's Atlanta?" Foreman replied somehow joyously, not knowing the implications that might arise from that particular call.

"It's not good. Really not good at all," Chase said breathlessly, cleaning his sticky brow irregularly with his hands. Even with the stony coldness in his front, sweat was running with incredible speed on his face.

"Wow, stop for a moment and breathe. It sounds like you're hyperventilating," Foreman said calmly, the previous enthusiasm perishing completely. He shifted nervously on his comfy chair in Princeton, looking for unwanted visitors.

"I met Cameron here," Chase declared clearly, not hiding the epicenter of the disaster.

"Allison Cameron? Your ex-wife?" Foreman asked with incredulity. His pupils dilated instantly, the coincidence sounding trenchant to him.

"Yes, and it didn't go well," Chase said with a strangled gasp. All his movements were erratic, he was constantly fixing his hair with grim swiftness.

"What did she say to you?" Foreman inquired further, the hampered power he wanted to use in medicine unleashing in that moment.

"Nothing. That's the problem. When someone asked what's between us, she just frowned and said something that we're old acquaintances," Chase reasoned, his imperious mind reviewing what had happened and babbling quickly. "And when the guy insisted, she walked away," Chase said with exultant exasperation, pitching his voice violently.

"This is exactly the Cameron I know. She divorced you, it's normal for her to be angry at you, especially because we know the reason why you two broke up," Foreman reminded him with no soothing tone. He knew everything about Chase's criminal mistake, processing the jarring discord that was creating between them.

"And what should I do?" Chase asked desperately, hands flying with atrocious gestures around him.

"Nothing," Foreman stated simply. Deep down, he knew that not even some laconic force would save them.

"Just to ignore each other until someone else notices?" Chase punctuated angrily, resuming the usual charade of trying to make everything run smoothly.

"Noticing what? You're just two strangers who don't want to talk," Foreman stated acidly, preventing Chase from plunging into tragedy.

"I need to do something," Chase insisted, the menacing attitude never disappearing.

"Whatever you do, make sure you don't make everything worse," Foreman said coldly, his lithe fingers drumming on the table. He knew Chase would be unstoppable, guided by irrational love and poisoning affection.

Chase hung up abruptly, hitting the phone with vindictive force and shoving it aggressively into his pocket. He walked back inside the fastidious building, seeking a warm shelter, despite the gale of rejection.

"Are the mice playing in the trap?" House asked with gruesome mockery, startling Foreman out of his reverie.

Foreman's eyes snapped open, the merry jest of realization hitting him. He locked eyes with House, the nonchalant manner of his phrases proving his point.

Chase was just another nondescript garb, a victim of experiments.

* * *

Chase reentered the lobby with furtive steps, sternly filtering the space near him to clear any doubt regarding Cameron's vice and incisive stare towards him. His legs were terribly wobbly, the shock of seeing her so affected and disdainful still emanating adrenaline in his veins.

He needed to fulfill his odious addictions, feeling the enflaming noise of his heartbeat lampooning the base of his chest. With feral desire, he grabbed a glass of vodka, drinking it in one single breath.

Chase inertly collapsed in one tall lounge chair, allowing the alcohol to burn his insides, to free him from any sentimental torment. The paroxysms of nausea were all too common for him, rising perilously high. His peripheral vision became blurry, the poisoning becoming more poignant and the contact with reality more shallow.

"Man, what in a million years happened there?" Fred came running to him, queer perplexity creeping in his eyes. He stopped abruptly, hands implanting themselves on his hips. Many questions were dancing on his lips.

"Just leave me alone. I'm not in the mood to talk about this right now," Chase dismissed him urgently, temporarily chocking on that shot. His eyes were glittering with irredeemable gloom, signaling he was far away in thought.

"Who is she?" Fred asked further, turning around slightly to search for the dilemmatic blonde. "A some kind of bimbo who refused to put it up with you? Judging by her stare, she's pretty hard on you," Fred explained, articulating his words powerfully. He was unaware of the quenchless language he used, cracking his white knuckles with no pause.

"That woman you called a bimbo happens to have been my wife for two years," Chase exploded, his queer tolerance coming to an end. Personally, he had thought of Cameron in a number of promiscuous ways, but hearing such rancorous opinions about his ex-wife seemed exaggerated.

"Wow, I'm sorry, I didn't know that," Fred tried vainly to correct his mistake. "Did you know she'd be here?" He asked incredulously, already planning a sick, twisted scenario in his head. He refused to believe in coincidences.

"How in the bloody hell could have I known?" Chase shrieked, blood boiling within him. He was desperate to drift away from sorrow and past mistakes, not to conquer closure.

"I was just asking, calm down. And why is she so damn angry at you? It isn't like you divorced yesterday," Fred pushed the issue further, despite feeling the loathsome oppression Chase was showing.

"That's none of your business," Chase said sharply. He pointedly shifted in his seat, almost falling over ungracefully, toxicity clouding his judgement.

"Do you have something in mind about how to approach her?" Fred asked him, raising one eyebrow. He felt the forbidding air thinning, he was rightful to discuss this with no shyness.

"I'll just give her space," Chase said nonchalantly, with not much care. Cameron started to become only a foggy notion for him, a dull reminder of the past, which was totally unwelcome.

"You aren't serious," Fred sneered. "Women don't function like that. They need attention and someone to run them around," He said genuinely loud and vocalized, his words getting lost in the fluttering laugh produced by other people.

"She surely doesn't want my attention," Chase said dankly, pervading any last drop of chance. The glass was already empty, rolling with ease between his fingers.

"Golden rule, resentment is the first step to love," Fred said oddly and philosophically, earning partially Chase's attention. Still, for Chase, he was a foolish and frenzy being for even mentioning love.

Chase's jaw slightly dropped and his lips parted with a deaf gasp. This meeting was just another crafty deception from his life, from the tidal wave of mistakes which started with Dibala's murder.

His eyes were wandering around, unwillingly searching for that light nuance of blonde he would make his heart flutter with both anxiety and strange pleasure. He was blocked in the labyrinth of Atlanta, maybe he was destined to confront all his past demons who were still haunting him at any step he was trying to make in the right direction.

"It looks like she kinda wants your attention. She has been strolling around for the last half hour. You know, intentions change. Maybe she realized she had made a mistake by leaving you. Maybe she's trying to find a way to talk to you privately. I don't think she hates you, she's just indecisive, like something is holding her back from coming back to you," Fred spoke again, Chase forgetting momentarily that he was even there.

The explanation seemed preternatural to him, but plausible to certain extent. He felt that this meeting could reawaken the passion once mustered between them, the balmy musing and paradise they were once living in.

Chase spotted her in a moment of vulnerability, details fading along with sight. For him, she was recognizable even in the most barbarous maze. The reasons for that were still mixed.

He lifted his head with great exertion, loitering to form coherent phrases.

"Allison."

This was not a furious inquiry, a fiery exclamation, felicitousness, it was a mute call to love. With heavy eyelids and startled steps, Chase crashed in his room, sleeping soundly, with Cameron's voice ghostly lulling him.

 **Author's Note:** Counting down days until I'll be sunbathing, writing really makes time fly.

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	4. Chapter 4 - Tragic

Phoenix

T.V. Show: House MD

Pairing: Chase/Cameron

Author: Foxes' Dreams

Summary: Tense with the anguish of spiritual struggle, Chase is no longer able to defeat the trauma of being alone. Even though he had been missing Cameron's cautious whispers of innocence and complexity, her return might be the real approach of doom.

* * *

Chapter 4 - Tragic

The nervous clattering of overused dishes and the irresistible sizzle of food were spoiling the ineffable splendor of the crowning day. The atmosphere seemed thoroughly foggy, filled with a haze of cloudy breaths, all obstructing the small rays of sunshine.

Even the inoffensive light that was filtering through the opaquely colored blinds seemed to put unbearable pressure on Chase. His eyes were bloodshot, his beseeching gestures slowing quickly. He still had to overcome the coercive situation he was entrapped in, feeling the coarse necessity to speak to Cameron promptly.

Chase was sited at a peripheral table, deserted and with his soul shredded. He was playing with the gracefully folded napkin in front of him, some childish eagerness and coaxing dexterity erupting from him. The harmless, but annoying noise of a chair being dragged brutally startled him out of his guiling daydream.

Fred trundled until he reached the ominously heavy chair, collapsing into it with feathery easiness. He skipped any prime formalities.

"It looks like a train had hit you, man," Fred accused him bluntly, tossing relentlessly Chase's ripe, green apple from one hand to the other. "Are you at least sober?" He inquired, feeling conflicting influences possessing Chase.

"Can you please leave me alone? There's nothing else I can tell you," Chase resented him with no weary remorse, he really wanted to receive from him only deferential regard. Purposefully, Chase was bypassing Fred's defiant stare, trying to hide in an imaginary cocoon.

"You have a headache, the classical sign of a terrible hungover. You can't destroy yourself like that," Fred said, words laced with genuine worry. They were talking with garrulity, parroting amicably, forgetting the time phase in which they had bonded.

"My life, my decisions. I appreciated your concern to some point, but sometimes people need time for themselves, in quietness," Chase groaned, with conceited remarks escaping his mouth. He swallowed with chronic difficulty a bit of scarlet melon, its taste sweet aggressively giving effervescent pleasantry to his insidious mouth.

"Whatever you say. Just remember one single fact. Either you tell her what you have to or you suck it up and live in the misery you've created," Fred reminded him with punctuated aristocracy. He was oddly involved in this matter, pupils dancing with mischief as any new, promising detail arose.

"How can you be sure of all those assumptions?" Chase retorted with hateful malignity. He was tired of his inactively past dalliances, which were continually coming to the surface.

"I have my ways," Fred replied mysteriously. "You're scheduled for the lab presentation on LAM," He then announced sternly, dressing himself with the façade of unbending professionalism and fastidious lips.

"Great. Another thing I should avoid," Chase replied with harsh jarrings, stubbornly refusing to embrace reality. Even the medical domain had turned mundane in the process.

"You're obliged to be there, remember? It might not be as bad as it sounds," Fred said heretically, with a hint of prophecy in his impish humor. His grin was oddly suggestive, betokening his impulsive character. Even Chase was transfixed with resolute hesitance and confusion, watching Fred changing attitudes with no actual reason. It seemed that his entire world was revolving around weirdness and unspoken disclosure.

The air around him was imponderable and oddly humid, the last traces of appetite venturing inexplicably. With the food cold and untouched, Chase could only support some of his tangled strands in his importunately moving palm.

* * *

The interior of the lab was consistent with an impoverished nightmare. A plenitude of dark-shaded utensils surrounded Chase, aggravating his precarious state of mind. He was functioning mostly out of duty, the vivacious motivation of carrying on fading with the second.

Frisky lightness coordinated his movements, the whole paraphernalia of combining substances and human tissues was seemingly too boring for him. He craved with latent emotions a deep slumber or at least a restful nap.

The tranquility of the sterile chamber was brutally interrupted by Cameron's sudden appearance, which to Chase seemed to be a frightful extravagance of the destiny.

"Cameron," Chase tried to keep her attentive just in the moment when the cascade of her blonde tresses passed virtually close to raw and rough texture of his stiffened arm.

The stature of her facial expression was excursive fancy and exemplary conduct. She was utterly ignoring him, eluding any melodrama that could inevitably arise as their sea-blue eyes locked.

"Can you please drop it? Both you and your friend. We both know what we have can't be repaired," Cameron said sharply, evicting with displeasure any little thread of talk they might have.

"We can at least discuss it. We skipped that part when it really mattered," Chase said, showing off the offense Cameron's dallying with regret provoked him.

"I'm out of here," Cameron said curtly, cunningly contrived and walked towards the exit with still fresh ideas of discussion under her warm, minty breath.

Miniature steps disgruntled Cameron from the electronic door and simultaneously, the escape to a colorless fluency and lively order. A pitch black background settled on whole scientific room, blinding both Chase and Cameron and ingraining them with panicky energy.

"What the hell?" Cameron asked rhetorically, still feeling the famine of wrecked nerves.

"It seems to be a power cut. It should go back to normal immediately," Chase said impersonally. He could still feel the embodiment of her, breathing staccato and tensing with profligacy.

The light returned to normal, dimly and shallowly. It put some jaundiced pallor on Cameron's face, as she vainly tried to open the door, which seemingly closed hermetically. It was somehow the deal of the curbed, cumbrous fate.

"I can't believe this!" Cameron sneered forcefully, belatedly smacking her fist on the door and sensing a searing pain trespassing her derma.

"Ironic, huh?" Chase huffed with dismay, still sitting calmly. His unsettled rage was not beyond control, he was outstandingly dozing the venom he could muster.

"Even if we're trapped between four walls, I'm not going to open up. You got what you deserved," Cameron announced bluntly, supporting her slightly sore back against the metallic door.

"Aren't you a little exaggerated?" Chase tried a moral negotiation, mostly appealing to her humanitarian side. He was finally standing, the concrete gravity constricting his juggling heart.

"You murdered a patient, Robert! Don't even try to minimize it!" Cameron said sternly, with ardent protest. She even stepped closer for a brief second, to emphasize her point.

"You know it all too well. A worldwide feared dictator who was going to massacre half of his people. I'm pretty sure he broke much more oaths and laws than I did," Chase fought for himself, for a dignity that was long perished. He took a few steps towards Cameron's petite frame, implicating himself in an arduous quest.

"That still doesn't give you the right to take a life, no matter how evil and carnal he might be," Cameron argued, punctilious ethics creeping in her low-toned voice.

"Dammit Allison! You virtually insisted he deserved a death sentence. It isn't all about me, it is also about you, about how you thought about his death," Chase shrieked that time, straining himself to share the gullible guilt. He was taking major steps, closing the seething gap between them until nothingness.

"I said someone like him deserves die. I never said we should be his executors," Cameron contraindicated, the vapid and repetitive arguments only enraging Chase.

"Whatever you want. Everything to keep your conscience clear. I'm already sentenced to hell," Chase said accusatorially, the variegated consequences of his actions crushing on him in the same time. Saying them out loud didn't alleviate them, it just impartially directed them to Cameron.

Cameron's sobs broke upon the stupendous, shuddering air, coming irregularly and leaving her stunningly breathless. The wave of tears felt oddly refreshing, anticipating words of wisdom and relief. She brushed her sleeve over damp face, Chase's proximity pressuring her.

"I loved you. I loved you, Robert, to the moon and back. I could have forgiven you... If you had told me sooner. If you hadn't hidden yourself in drinking. We could have escaped Princeton, live the life we've always wanted," Cameron said incoherently, stately chocking on every word. She was aware of the whimsical touch that was appraisingly put on Chase, his face betraying only confusion.

"If I had told you, I would have put the whole pressure on you. You would have ended in this miserable position. I couldn't have done this to you," Chase replied gently, showing some pregnant imprint of feelings.

"We were married. We needed have shared all the grief, all the joy, all the emotions," Cameron told him soothingly, her preliminary assumption guiding Chase back to the faint memory of their wedding vows.

"I know. I just couldn't see you suffer. I thought I could handle everything by myself. I thought I could spare you from another tragedy," Chase said directly, measuring all the implications. He was showing a nominal platitude that was meant only to protect Cameron from his hideous actions.

"I would have coped with it," Cameron remembered him.

"I think we both made mistakes," Chase admitted silently.

"I'm sorry," Cameron whispered.

"I'm sorry, too," Chase mouthed.

They were only inches apart, the fawning attraction motivating them to cross boundaries. After months of obstreperous sufferance, Chase's oblivious mind was at ease.

* * *

Time passed conveniently slow. The peacefully propagated visage Chase and Cameron were living actually soothed them both, normal, piquant small-talk arising naturally.

"How's Chicago?" Chase asked, mostly seeking to hear the intricate interlacings that had occurred in her life.

"As uninteresting as I knew it, but I couldn't go anywhere else," Cameron said honestly, feeling no reservations. "How's Princeton?" She asked equally. She was suitably sited on a high-chair, her slender leg dangling over the open air.

"Annoyingly quiet, rainy. The cat got really lethargic. House is the same creepy limp," Chase started to ramble, the monotony of his life rotating only around work and home. Sitting upright, he eyed Cameron, who was genuinely listening to his story like it was an intriguing braggart.

"Nothing has changed, hasn't it?" Cameron asked, predicting an analytic answer, full of nothing.

"Not really. Time seemed to have stood still ever since you left," Chase replied by giving the awaited answer. He didn't held the possessive eye contact, showing no joyful alacrity, a thing that startled Cameron back into suspicion.

She took some decisive steps towards him, smashing with no remorse the floor with her heels. The hissing murmur of her eloquent breath sent tremors down Chase's spine. Once again, they were in the symbiosis of the befogged, not knowing where they were heading.

"Look into my eyes and tell me nothing has happened while I was gone," Cameron pressed the issue, her galactic blue eyes begging for the truth. The question came as though her gleeful spirit was aware of any precedence.

"I was stabbed," Chase blurted out in one single breath.

"I underwent a hysterectomy. It seems we're both equally ruined," Cameron announced with faulty demeanor, the governing impulse telling her to move on and to erase this tragedy from her bustling mind.

Chase's jaw dropped, all the grave and swift dreams he had ever had crumbling instantly.

 **Author's Note:** I forgot to mention that in this story, there will be no references to the lockdown episode. That should explain their rage. Also, happy birthday to my mom, my closest inspiration!

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	5. Chapter 5 - Disappointing

Phoenix

T.V. Show: House MD

Pairing: Chase/Cameron

Author: Foxes' Dreams

Summary: Tense with the anguish of spiritual struggle, Chase is no longer able to defeat the trauma of being alone. Even though he had been missing Cameron's cautious whispers of innocence and complexity, her return might be the real approach of doom.

* * *

Chapter 5 - Disappointing

A storming haze was once again rooting on the blazing blue sky of Atlanta, decayed log and musk freezing in the nostrils of the living people. The barren branches were placid and monotonous, adding to the overwhelming grey of the day.

Inside, in the cozy and eccentrically designed hall, Chase was feeling candid and oddly isolated, sweat pouring in his exposed pores as the warmth became excessive. His hand was scrabbling on the flourish paper, automatically completing paperwork like it was squeamish nothingness.

His mind was perpetually conceiving only spiteful, scheming surly phrases that would evict Cameron from any of his distant thoughts.

"Well, well, it looks like a storm is raining over again," Fred said stoically as he delivered a new grandiloquent pile of files, which were appealing to be completed. The web of villainy crept into his sparkling brown eyes, beginning for information to beguile the tedious hours.

"Why do you always feel like you should ruin someone's day? It's nothing," Chase scoffed, rolling his eyes. He was at once in a vanguard of progress towards the better and Fred only dragged him back into abyss.

"I heard this lie too many times now. Did the power cut have a special effect on you?" Fred asked further, curiosity and turmoil lacing his words.

"I got trapped in the lab, boringly running gels. Unfortunately for your little gossip, nothing happened," Chase dismissed him again, hoping his trick of avoidance would work and Fred's inquisition would disappear.

"All by yourself? I happened to be in charge of the personnel yesterday and someone else was oddly missing," Fred admitted, parroting all the turns in events. As in any indefensible situation, he leaned on the table, bowing his head to see Chase's mimics drastically change.

"Bugger off," Chase swore under his hot and enraged breath. He was beyond exhausted and filled with such turbid and turbulent memories that even language got out of his control.

"What had actually happened there? I'm sure three hours locked in there didn't pass that easily," Fred pushed the issue, the substratum of belief guiding him. His presence exactly at the time when the list was done seemed another synchronic coincidence to Chase, possibly another stroke of fate.

"We talked randomly, nothing targeted. And even if we did, it is exclusively our matter," Chase jabbed with words, feeling the portent of danger threatening to disclose what happened.

"Whatever you say, bro. Remember one fact: I might know more things than you do," Fred said with a mischievous grin, his mendacious tongue revealing more than it should.

Chase frowned deeply, stopping his handwriting for a moment, appraisingly following Fred's steps as they grew lighter and muter. This game of destiny became addictive.

* * *

In Princeton, the clouds were thinning and curving, venturing over the liquid horizon. Peace brooded over all, pouring down torrents of light and perfuming the outside with the floral elixir of miniature daffodils and crocuses.

The hallways of PPTH were bustling with pressure, the precipice of stupefaction and severity running into Foreman and his heavy steps freely.

"Can you please stop that insensitive teasing on Chase and tell him why he's wandering in Atlanta," Foreman asked almost with a carnal shout, entering House's office and closing the glass door with obduracy and contempt, leaving a horrifying thud behind.

"Why do you I have something do with it? I'm purely innocent, Cuddy forced me to send one of you," House defended himself, mockingly ignoring the onrush of life and licking his reddish lollipop.

"Why especially Chase, who's barely walking? And, by the way, the expression 'mice in the trap' can't go unnoticed," Foreman attacked, the impetuosity of defending Chase propelling him. Thirteen and Taub were poised in the other room, watching with immolation the whole ordeal.

"It's figure of speech. Try to be more literary, your life is so black and white," House said with languor, dragging the soaked lollipop across his lower lip with restrained grace.

"You don't give a crap about literature. And nothing comes out of your mouth without having significance," Foreman said in return, the kernel of truth escaping his mouth.

House raised his eyebrows in imitative confusion, folding his arms in front of him and leisurely leaning back in the chair, vowing patiently to himself that Foreman would resolve the jumbling jangle of facts.

"You knew Cameron would be there, didn't you?" Foreman accused loudly, using the eligible elasticity of his mind to form coherent assumptions. "That's beyond acceptable. You know how Chase would react to see her. You're trying to ruin him for good," He continued, the emulous dilapidations of time and torment Chase had been through affecting Foreman as well.

"Chase is not the ruined one here," House answered honestly, sitting diplomatically upright and eying Foreman with difficult attainment.

The brutally falling information startled Foreman and his theory. He had always considered Cameron to be compass of strength, which could always bring down barriers of reticence.

* * *

Chase was once again trapped in the avenues of dissemination, the babel of tongues and speeches becoming more redolent by the minute. He was feeling excluded and intrusive, eyes rolling in their orbits as the words spoken in the front of the room became an immediate source of boredom.

Chase was mostly striving for an outlet, Cameron's petite figure being his single center of interest and procrastination. The clock signaled the beaming arrival of a new hour, people furiously strolling to exit the room. Chase was flabbergasted with nervous energy, approaching Cameron with a brunt of disgrace.

"Cameron?" Chase asked from behind the chiseled bundle of blonde strands cascading on Cameron's slender back.

"Yeah. What's going on?" Cameron asked in reply, turning only slightly and keeping the cadences of delirium at bay.

"We can't just drop the subject off. You've been through something traumatic. You are alone here. I can help you this time, if you let me. The lack of talk destroyed us the first time. I want to change that," Chase tried to convince her, desperately searching for a flicker of recognition lighting in her eyes.

"Could I just -" Cameron tried to interfere, not straining too much.

"Trust me," Chase reassured her, a flutter of balanced sincerity settling in the pit of his stomach.

"Okay. When do you want us to meet?" Cameron asked, a shiver running down her spine, realizing what her grind question had implied.

"Meet me in room 124 at eight. Everyone will be at the projection, we won't be disturbed," Chase answered quietly, masking any grandeur happiness he might experience.

"It's a date," Cameron replied wryly, a grimace of dim satisfaction dimpling her cheeks as she reverently left.

A grasp of comprehensive power strangled Chase's arm, making him turn abruptly. He faced Fred, a hum of pleasure escaping his lips and a trace of talk itching to be vocalized.

"Water is getting warmer. Something did happen. I proved my worthiness. You can tell me. I can have a response that can help you," Fred tried again to make Chase cooperate, his voice being undaunted by treachery or failure.

"She's my former wife. I did a stupid mistake and she left and -" Chase was bedeviled, choking on the last syllable and cloying in a bittersweet realization.

"I know this story, but it modified, something else arose. I'm not going to run around and scream the information out at the top of my lungs," Fred assured him, staying close to Chase and confuting the argument.

"I let her go and she had a hysterectomy. How can I not feel guilty?" Chase sobbed momentarily, covering his rosy lips with instinctive speed.

"I'm going to tell you something vital now and I need you to stay calm and control your emotions," Fred said warningly. "I have known Allison for a long time," He admitted slowly, watching Chase's pupils dilate perilously strong and fatally filling with outrage.

"What? How could you not tell me? You played with me the whole time," Chase accused him deliberately, the fury immersing into thought and clenching hermetically his fists.

"I didn't. If I had told you everything that occurred right after we met, you would have gone out of your mind," Fred said, instance creeping in his point.

"You're right. How did you two meet after all?" Chase asked, greedily wanting to clear off the obscureness that settled upon the situation.

"We worked together for almost a year. We were both keen on revolutionary research, so we were partners in studying the composition of pyrazinamide," Fred told him, the skilled and rooted story emerging slowly on the surface. They were both avoiding to face other occupants, their scrupulous conduct getting mostly ignored.

"Did you drag me to that party on purpose?" Chase asked with emphasis, raising his regular eyebrows.

"Honestly, yes. She needed you," Fred said calmly, crystallizing into action the most altruistic intensions.

"How can you know that? You never lived with us under the same roof, so you get no right to opinion," Chase pitched his voice, cringing with impermissibility.

"Trust me. I did it altruistically, for her, for her healing. I was with her when the accident that lead to the hysterectomy happened. It was only a few weeks after she joined our team," Fred explained, any fragments of controversy disappearing from his speech.

"What actually happened? You have to tell me," Chase pressed him, leaning on the proximal table as nightmare images dragged him into pursuit.

"Allison has to tell you that. There are more details forthcoming," Fred advised him, pedantry refusing to escape his lips.

"Then tonight is the big date," Chase announced, disclosing the rendered plan and exhaling deeply.

"Just swallow up the guilt, the resentment, the anger, the frustration you might feel. Listen to her," Fred enumerated, summoning Chase's most honorable beauty before leaving.

Hours passed rapidly and Chase was wrapped in a veil of lassitude, wondering about how the intercourse with Cameron would occur. An harmonic knock on the door startled him, throwing his life into disorder.

"Allison, I'm glad you came," Chase breathed into words, her revealed presence sickening the silence.

"I promised I would come," Cameron replied, stepping into the amenable room with flirtatious, provocative strides.

With no warning, her scarlet lips crashed on his with raw, feral and aversive desire. Chase was constrained to speak, her hands seductively wandering to his collarbone in the elixir of mustered passion.

"What are you doing?" Chase asked, poised to see her dooming into self-destruction.

"Going back to the old times. Now shut up and kiss me," Cameron exhaled with wanton eagerness, the heady scent of alcohol coming from her insides driving Chase to despair.

"We need to stop, this isn't right. You are drunk," Chase said sharply, moving dangerously slow to cease her erratic and simulative movements.

"We always lived on the verge of risk. Why clear this rule now?" Cameron puffed, genuine passion and endeared physical attraction propelling her.

Once again, they were waltzing promiscuously in the dance of pleasurable gasps, devoted movements and closeness brought to a maximum. They were exposed to derision as they reached their peak, reverting themselves to a foredoomed failure.

In the sparkling white moonlight, Chase could only succumb himself to fascination as he breathed in her naked form, weeping a bit in front of the aflame destruction she had felt.

 **Author's Note:** Basically, on Friday I'll be leaving for my shore vacation, but I assure you I'll do my best to keep updating.

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	6. Chapter 6 - Deliberately

Phoenix

T.V. Show: House MD

Pairing: Chase/Cameron

Author: Foxes' Dreams

Summary: Tense with the anguish of spiritual struggle, Chase is no longer able to defeat the trauma of being alone. Even though he had been missing Cameron's cautious whispers of innocence and complexity, her return might be the real approach of doom.

* * *

Chapter 6 - Deliberately

During the preternatural dawn, the hills were clad in rose and amethyst, smelling heavily of freshly brewed dew and hypnotic perfume. The horizon was clear and inevitably filled with a fussy diffuseness, the supreme sun throwing mercilessly arrows of fire and extraterrestrial heat on the fertile soil. There was a stuffy humidity in the air and a sudden draught pervading Cameron's lungs.

Her naked form was glittering with unshed magnificence in front of the opaque curtains, showing off every dilated pore like a minuscule diamond, precious and fragile. She was hurriedly searching for her all too brusque and mismatched articles of clothing, which had been unwisely ripped off and deposited in a heap on the wooden tiles. Cameron was the genuine definition of superficiality, hardly managing to put on the clothes and restore her destroyed dignity. Hurriedness and anxiety were ingraining in her methodical and robotic moves, as though her slender and petite frame was stained with shameless dirt and capital sins.

Chase was just beginning to stir, awkwardly feeling the common elixir lingering agonizingly on his ardent and slightly sour lips. His nakedness seemed to be condemning and insensitively lavish. His ears were eer prey to the delusional gasps and vindictive pleads, all the repercussions came thronging in panic haste towards him. He supported himself on his carnal and scratched to blood elbows, his head swimming with pleasing memories and redeemable fantasy.

"What happened last night was a foolish mistake," Cameron said sharply, straightening her lilac blouse and sighing from a kind of mental depletion. She was behaving with a scantily cold servility, branding her light voice with cowardice.

"It is not a mistake, at least not for us, not anymore," Chase replied just as resolute, putting a hand on his forehead like an imaginary shield.

"Why would you say that? We had been in this position before, no need to dissect it now," Cameron fought the urge to argue with no boundaries, to burn with indignation and reserve. Instead, she was vainly trying to cover her escapade with unworthy explanations.

"We were married, Allison. At that time, it was utterly normal. At this point, it is abnormal to come into my room, drunk and seduce me once again," Chase said somehow with odd calmness, proceeding to clear any alertness from his argument.

"You were the one who insisted we should talk," Cameron pointed out gently, shifting from awaken flames to regard herself truthfully from a loathing position.

"You have been stabbed, went through a hysterectomy. All these things changed you," Chase resumed in two phrases, leaning against the lithe headboard and watching Cameron with glazing intent.

"What I went through is none of your business," Cameron said, seething with sedition and avoiding to sob with dread even though her voice was betraying the hurt that was conflicting her heart. She slammed the door with unbounded force.

Chase exhaled fully, suffusing with regret. He arranged the bundle of blonde strands messily, even the smallest touch on himself reminding him how weak and irresponsible he had proved to be. Walking on numb feet, he entered the adjoining bathroom, hoping cold water would afflict his newly appeared ugliness. Relief came only for a second.

* * *

The morning became grim and sullen, an impenetrable blanket of fog, murmurs and reproaches blending in with the oxygen levitating above the ground. Inside, Chase's thoughts had become incoherent and muddled, all striving for an outlet he was not able to give. His back was tensed until the utter breaking point, seared and scrounged, putting him under considerable pressure. The coffee in front of him turned bittersweet and frigid, the steam vaporizing with escalating speed.

A firmly planted pat on his back brought Chase back to reality, throwing his masquerade of tranquility into disorder. Fred was betraying a shifting attitude, this time presenting with a deep frown and defensive sayings and quibbles ready to escape his mind.

"So? What has she told you?" Fred asked rapidly, eagerness and curiosity consuming him entirely. He refused to sit down, sagacity and virtue forcing him into an up right position, with his ears pierced even to the softest sounds.

"Not much, not anything that would convince me she had been through hell and back," Chase said, pouring a doze of slash anger in his petrified tone. His mind was wandering in digression, his knuckles turning ghastly white.

"Don't jump to conclusions, maybe she was indeed only the innocent victim," Fred debated, his involvement in the whole ordeal starting to be estranging and mysterious.

"How can you be so sure that something putrid is going on?" Chase asked, putting in jeopardy Fred's purely stated implication. "Forget it. I don't know why I got so involved into this again, I'm always the one who gets hurt and has to collect the pieces from the ground," He continued, jeter and scoff creeping in his moderated voice. He was prey to rebuffs and anxiety, Cameron's appearance only worsening the gaping hole in his heart. His eyes transfixed the cup of coffee, all mundane and somehow plaid.

"What happened? Hopefully, I can make you overcome this," Fred suggested, feeling Chase being overheated by his own inner demons. His stratagem seemed crafty, his hand being glued to his shoulder was not incidental or scant.

"We slept together. Just as always, we avoid to talk," Chase said simply, enduring with fortitude the consequences that might arise. He relaxed slightly, now quivering only with restrained grief.

"How could you let this happen?" Fred exclaimed, his voice imbued with insane courage. He was determined to eradicate another disaster.

"I just couldn't bear her. She came drunk in my room last night. I invited her there so we could talk in silence while you all were at the scientific projection," Chase confessed, related with zest and zeal the turn of events.

"You couldn't bear her?! That's impossible. The law of nature stands here, men are more physically powerful than women. You were able to stop her, just by grabbing her forearms and pinning her to a wall. And after she would have quieted down for a little bit, you could have taken her to her room and sleep peacefully. But you decided not to. You secretly wanted this. You knew this would bring her back into your proximity," Fred disintegrated Chase's theory, punishing with severity his previous abhorrent actions and repelling with indignation the entire scenario.

"I didn't do it exactly -" Chase began, trying with cumulative effort to defend himself.

"Admit it," Fred emphasized, squirming with certainty.

"Everything you said is more or less true. I could have overpowered her, but I was sure giving her physical satisfaction will bring her to open up," Chase explained, partially admitting his responsibility and scrutinizing with care his mistake.

"I wonder how she agreed to marry you. You can't focus just on giving her a climax, women look more forward than that. They like the spiritual side as well," Fred concluded, his language seething with sedition. He was standing in front of Chase, in an attempt to input his dominance and power breathed by his crossed arms.

"When they are drunk, they all care about is the warmth you can give them. She was in no mood for a serious conversation," Chase reasoned, his digits drumming continually on the table he was treating with contemptuous amusement.

"I understand that. Try not to give up that easily," Fred concluded before stepping away, the insidious lack of details mixing with his regular emotions.

Chase stared blankly into space, praying the burn will vanish, will descent into death. Sniffling his shirt with a wrinkled nose, Cameron's original scent penetrating his nostrils and the corner of his flint blue eyes filling consequently with stirring, stinging saltiness. He was fading in insignificance, in personal decay, expanding his capabilities into weakness. Cameron was just festooned alongside with him.

* * *

A petticoat fringe of hail settled over Atlanta, creating a cacophony of sounds that were tattering the thin windows. Chase was once again insolated in his chamber, a pulsating headache scrupulously grazing his temples. His soul was shattered to pieces by a chain of torment and a gale of merriment, his name on Cameron's lips haunting him dreadfully. Fred's words became inquisitive and irreplaceable, stirring in him the wish to eradicate the past stupefying events.

An ineffable knock, exactly like the one from the fastidious night, caught his attention, as he slumped and dragged himself heavily to the locked door. Cameron's gregarious stare united with his, remorse and several tears drowsing her pupils and set embossed goosebumps to erupt on her limbs.

"I'm willing to talk now. If you can forgive me, we have a lot to recuperate," She began with a staccato, sickening cough. "You were right. I came here for a reason yesterday. It - it's only that I sometimes drown in my own sorrow. I didn't know how to cope with all this, it's simple. I -" Cameron stammered over petty syllables, not pondering even for a second over bulky tomes, but releasing all the pain she had felt as she leaned on the wooden door frame.

"It's enough. I get you, you had a breakdown and you don't know how to heal yourself. I'm here if you need me," Chase reassured her delicately. He was directly plunging into more sovereignty, feeling a sort of stolid affection towards the umpiring tragedy.

"So, where do I start?" Cameron asked with cumulative shyness in her voice.

"Why did all of the stabbing paraphernalia happened?" Chase offered as a start, settling both of them on the bed and comprising the fearsome unaccountable story his ears might sorely endure.

"I got employed in Chicago at a research institute. I didn't want to take the job at first, but without my parents helping me, I was broke," Cameron said virtually missive, diminishing the catastrophic version.

"Your parents didn't comfort you? At all?" Chase exclaimed negatively, shifting his gaze into a nullifying, ominous stare.

"They considered that I made the same mistake twice, getting married without rationalizing what it would imply. You were far from a mistake, trust me," Cameron reassured him, mixing truth and exaggeration.

"I know, what we had was," Chase started defensively, filing through his vocal reminiscence a fitting form. "Good."

"Anyway, I was charged with studying the organic composition of pyrazinamide, the drug that has been distributed in Africa to cure tuberculosis. I did what I was asked, but one day, because I saw a modification in the molar mass, I studied the reaction with human tissue. The oxidation was not complete," Cameron reported fully and with fixture, keeping her piercing gaze to the ground.

"Which would lead to the favorization of gout flares by decreasing the renal excretion of uric acid," Chase realized, the overheated horror striking him primarily.

"Exactly. Actually the selling company cut off the oxygen from the formula just to get a lower production price. They forged the entire paperwork just to get the same distribution price and to obtain a greater profit," Cameron continued, exposing a lamentable truth.

"It is unbelievable!" Chase exclaimed wildly, covering his figure with his hands, showing great distress.

"I informed the board I would take legal action. One day, the boss called me into his office and then, the disaster happened. He stabbed me, fifteen times in the stomach. I was supposed to die that day, take the secret into the grave. After liters of transfusions and a hysterectomy, I survived. I modified my ID, proved my death, changed my name and lived in Minnesota ever since then," Cameron motivated silently, her tiny, feminine voice shattering progressively.

"Just breathe, you have to calm down," Chase said soothingly, hiding his growing anxiety. "Just sleep now, I've got you," He said with a toned whisper, wrapping his brawny arms around her shivering frame.

How could they be so poised on macabre verge?

 **Author's Note:** With too many bags from Victoria's Secret and a sunburnt face, here's another chapter.

Read and Review! :*


	7. Chapter 7 - Obligatory

Phoenix

T.V. Show: House MD

Pairing: Chase/Cameron

Author: Foxes' Dreams

Summary: Tense with the anguish of spiritual struggle, Chase is no longer able to defeat the trauma of being alone. Even though he had been missing Cameron's cautious whispers of innocence and complexity, her return might be the real approach of doom.

* * *

Chapter 7 - Obligatory

An ineffable splendor crowned the arising sun, the gentle swaying of the tall poplars startled in Chase a kneeling sort of nostalgia and reminiscence. Watching with subtle awe the glorious nature, he was not tattered by poverty and toil, he was relaxing with a tumult of easiness constricting his heart. The bench he was sitting on was uncomfortably rough and multicolor, with patches of contrasting nuances all over it in a blur. The paroxysms of rage or anxiety avoided to submerge him, Cameron's willing confession coming as an ascetic reminder that his trusting ability was not completely shrewd.

"Hey brother," Fred's distant voice concreted into being. On that day, he was wearing grey-hued capri pants and a marine chemise, looking utterly formal and imposing, rashness and heedlessness emanating from the untidy wrinkles of the plain shirt.

"Hey, what's going on?" Chase raised his bowed head with utter amazement, a cheerful grin overspreading his face, quickly earning a questionable frown from Fred.

"It seems you are finally communicating with me. Wanna grab a bite? There's a little bistro around the corner," Fred suggested, trying to maintain the good mood, now that Chase overcame the demoralizing and enfeebling stage.

"Yeah, sure. I'm starving, the breakfast has been really shallow," Chase complained mildly, wasting no time and standing virtually upright in a matter of dense and luminous seconds.

The bistro they chose was an amalgam of chocking smoke and delicate sizzling, feebleness and folly running wildly within Chase. He was wrinkling his nose with pure disgust, a feverishly furious mix of odors invading his nostrils.

"Can you give me your notes from the last night semiology lecture?" Fred asked politely, hectic and pitiful tone coming to his senses.

"Oh, yeah, that. I didn't go to that course after all," Chase admitted slowly. He wanted to avoid the fatalistic question, inertly knowing that the confession might destroy their balance.

"How come? You have always been the one with perfect presence," Fred teased with no heckling and interruption, unconsciously not knowing the magnitude of the peculiar absence.

"Nothing special, I was keeping myself preoccupied," Chase said nonchalantly.

"I doubt you just stood in your room and watched TV without much sense. Another something that's bothering you happened," Fred dismissed his theory urgently. He has become an odd sort of medium, ostentatiousness and gaiety sometimes coming out of his mouth in a rush.

"I was with Cameron again last night," Chase whispered simply as though the encounter with her was something regular, almost platted.

"You got laid again? Haven't you learned your lesson?" Fred exclaimed, suffusing a groan; he was beyond sick of his foolish mistakes due to him being long lasting enamored.

"We didn't. We talked for hours in a row until she broke down, started crying hysterically and had to sooth her down," Chase explained thoroughly, painstaking and cumbersome images flashing before his eyes.

"She told you about the lawsuit and pyrazinamide, hasn't she?" Fred assumed, leaning over the table to increase the secrecy.

"Yeah, everything. It's tragic that this plunged exactly on her, right after the divorce," Chase said, paltry and inglorious guilt crashing upon him as he spoke. He gripped the edge of the wooden table for a somehow imaginary support.

"Trust me with one fact. I tried to stop her from continuing with the trial, it was way too risky to damask a full blown operation by herself, with no security defense," Fred reasoned with him, trying to erase all the patched and dry events Cameron had faced. For Chase, those remained borderless wounds. "Anyway, let's skip the drama. Tonight, there will be a special dinner for all of us, you know, dancing, booze and food. Are you into it?" Fred asked with no shifting compromise. He was really only posing as a figure willing to party with endless shabbiness and little vulgarity.

"Not entirely," Chase scoffed, stuffing his ardent mouth with unnecessary food and libations, trying to cover a sharp or vigorously alcoholic slip.

"If I told you Cameron is coming, would you come, too?" Fred asked rhetorically, watching as desire pooled in his pupils.

Chase could only stare numbly at him, probity and candor making his heart leap vigorously. Another furtively nimble meeting with Cameron could either destroy or blossom him.

* * *

Some variably scattered ornaments were cradling the colorless walls, the scurrilous mix having people staring and blinking. The music was rather loud and old fashioned, the weltering current of emotions affecting Chase. He was mostly abashed and ashamed by his presence, keeping important distance from any temptation.

"I don't know why I agreed to this. This party is one of the lamest I have ever been to," Chase puffed with ignorance, again wondering if he should be there. He was leaning on a peripheral wall, abruptly averting his gaze from any perilous sensation he might endure.

"Come on, live a little! You're just saying that because Cameron is missing," Fred whined, imitating a shapeless and crumbling posture, much alike to Chase's.

Chase was balancing between contemptuous amusement and actual malice, looking at Fred with utter criticism dancing in his eyes. Fred seemed crude and primitive, drinking liquor from a narrow flask.

"You haven't seen her? She's right there, flirting with God-knows-who," Fred constricted the bewilderment sparkling in his pupils. He showed the direction in which Cameron was fitting, oddly light and lithe, grinning wholeheartedly.

"That is Matthew something from Seattle Grace, great aesthetic surgeon, but-" Chase started to ramble continuously, defaming and tarnishing his attempt to make himself impassive.

Cameron was oddly dressed in a lambent outfit, blackberry nuances falling on her dress and her shoes. She was somehow deft and offensive, dancing with irregular moves and laughing incoherently. Chase frowned even deeper, planting his brawny arms on his rigid hips, unremitting toil contracting his back.

"Wait a minute, of course you observed that. You're falling for her again, especially after seeing her naked again. Now, jealousy is eroding you, you can't stand seeing her with someone else, in such a proximity," Fred tried to make Chase confess, seeing how squalid distress was mercilessly consuming him.

"I don't know if I ever stopped loving her," Chase said, his voice above a faint, vanquished whisper.

He was pouring out all the dilemmas and enigmas obstructing his heart, a love that was unconditionally remaining in his heart with statuesque immobility. With all the curves and ashes, his affection was directed to Cameron, in any state or nature of their relationship. He wasn't her minatory shadow, but the opalescent soulmate.

"That's how love works, buddy. It's sorrow, regret mixed with affection. I know you're tormenting yourself for letting her go so easily, but you need to know that time changes everything. May destiny let you meet again, you will meet again," Fred told him soothingly, giving him a patent example. He eyed Chase with honesty, his soul hurting at his dissolution.

"That's what all people say to numb their pain," Chase said pessimistically, as though he has given up any last shred of hope.

"And it doesn't work?" Fred half-exclaimed incredulously. "Just the fact that she came to you, after an impending divorce, seeking release is vital. Any other single person would have got drunk and would have got coited on her own. But, no she came to you either way," He continued, his voice sharp and decisive, thorns of truth escaping his mouth.

Fred crossed his arms with passive obedience while Chase decided to sit on a coquettish bar stool, his head spinning with the lightheaded admission.

"She was drunk," Chase whispered, trying not to let himself be prey to another ghastly possibility.

"Exactly. Getting drunk is a need and it actually shows how a person is and what she wants. She lost her sense of rationality, so she gave into her desires," Fred explained with more dedication, the narcotic effect making him stammer over simple syllables.

"People say you know best, how's like getting drunk until you forget your name," He jabbed ironically, alluring degradation coming into his senses as the situation turned strangely amusing.

"Which people?" Chase asked with subdued indignation.

"Many more than you might imagine," Fred said with a hysterical laugh, much inappropriate for such times. He had evolved from a friend sated with priceless advice to an adhesive drunk person in shallow minutes.

"It's strange. She never used to drink that much in a short period of time," Chase virtually ignored him, his gaze transfixed to a slightly flexible Cameron who was going to the lowest point of degradation, dancing promiscuously with jerky, irregular movements.

"Judging by what she had done recently, drinking is kinda minor. And it's understandable for someone who has been through so much pain," Fred said without much care, twirling an olive between his straight and catatonic digits.

Chase was still watching Cameron with intriguing braggart, questioning her attitude with intuitive perception. She was sorely transforming as she was dancing with hoary mania, utterly provoking and selfishly uncoordinated. The guy was watching from afar, with tentative eyes, her graphic portrayal exactly on his taste.

Suddenly, a purely white powder poured out from his fingers, sinking with unutterable force in Cameron's cocktail. He was watching pleasantly as though his aim was accomplished, treating Cameron with immunity as a passing sequence.

"Did you see that?" Chase asked alarmed, meeting Fred's glassy scandalized glance. A wave of soberness put Fred back on track, both standing upright.

"He put something in her drink," Fred whispered dangerously low, the fragmentary facts whirling in his mind.

"I'm going to take care of that," Chase warned with a sort of growl escaping his constricted throat, lunging at the guy with immense force.

"Chase-" Fred gasped perilously, following his enraged companion.

"What do you think you are doing? Drugging an innocent woman just to take advantage of her later? How scrupulous!" Chase assaulted the guy from behind, foul calumny escaping his lips.

"How do you dare to accuse me of that?" The guy pretended to be completely ashamed, despite his disgraceful attempt.

Cameron was just approaching them, frail and forlorn inconsistence claiming her steps.

"Allison, look at me," Chase turned towards her abruptly. "Her pupils are dilated and she can barely stand up," He accused with venom swirling in his mendacious tongue.

"Why do you think I drugged her?" The guy challenged him, the fluctuating light accentuating the stubble on his beard and the rosy scar on his forehead.

"Because I saw you, moron!" Chase shouted forcefully, his inhumanly fist clenching as all Chase's enraptured attention focused on him. He punched him with dreary force, sending him twirling to the frigid floor. Just as he was hovering over him in scandalous triumph, preparing for a truthful fight, Fred's strangled voice startled him.

"Chase, no time for that!" Fred reminded him, dragging him with one arm from the entangled position. "Take her to this room, fifth floor and hide. Stat!" He shouted in a cogent statement, putting Cameron as a priority.

Chase scooped Cameron up with unseen easiness, the colossal failure that had threatened her still frightening him. He ran as fast as he could, seeking chastened hope and escape, knowing they were only floors away.

 **Author's Note:** Since I was asked in a review, I don't have a pair at the moment. But, I did have one years ago, who propelled me to write, to achieve my dreams. Also, a million thanks to my guest reviewer, Bess, who really made my day by writing a simple, but heartwarming feedback.

Read and Review! :*


	8. Chapter 8 - Numbing

Phoenix

T.V. Show: House MD

Pairing: Chase/Cameron

Author: Foxes' Dreams

Summary: Tense with the anguish of spiritual struggle, Chase is no longer able to defeat the trauma of being alone. Even though he had been missing Cameron's cautious whispers of innocence and complexity, her return might be the real approach of doom.

* * *

Chapter 8 - Numbing

In the dim light of the interrogation chamber, nothing was moving forward. The moldy scent of the gruesomely ripped wallpaper combined with putrid sweat put Fred in a haze of anxiety, tension clouding even his chary instincts.

Behind the glass wall, he could only deal with cheap resentment and boiled anger, the lack of explanation driving him into pure insanity. His fists were clenched until numbness and his body poised.

"Why did you try to drug that lady up?" The fazing voice of the police officer inquired sharply and wryly, the person in cause pursued looking straight ahead with no mimics crossing his figure.

The officer left the room wordlessly, his steps thumping loudly on the polished linoleum. His bland confidence was perishing.

"Can I speak to him in private for a little?" Fred asked shyly, oddly self-assured of his ability to overpower.

"Go ahead. You have five minutes in the interrogation room. We'll turn the cameras off," The officer's dry and staccato tone announced, leaving Fred breathless and surged with courage.

Fred walked in the room strangely decisive, knowing the detrimental result he would obtain.

"Why did you do it, Matthew?" He asked condignly strong, slamming his palms on the wooden desk. He eyed the suspect with sophistries, aware of his previous intentions.

"You know why all too well. If she says something at a courtroom, I go down. You go down as well," Matthew sneered, viciously threatening and sharing vindictive recoil. Even with his hands handcuffed to the back, a zealous, poisoning grin returned to his features.

"The boss sent you? Isn't he full of all the hurt he caused?" Fred asked incredulously, his temper continually crashing and crumbling into ashes. His imposing attitude was still unchanged, fiercely lunging at him.

"If he wants something to be done, I'll get it done for him. Who is she to denounce us, a whole ramification of an international company?" Matthew said venomously, the fulsome praise escaping his mouth with heady pace. His forehead was crossed by a deep frown, the scarlet blood pulsating rhythmically in his temples.

"She did the right thing, the people in Africa do not deserve such a scrupulous treatment. How does boss know she's alive?" Fred argued consonantly, furrowing his cheeks with great purpose. Such defaulting comments to Cameron's persona could only furtively enrage him.

"The stupid she came to this conference. It happens we had seen her on CCTV," Matthew answered simply, courteously. Even though he was using furious invective, he was treating the situation without much strenuous care.

"Don't you dare talk about her like that! She went through a damn hysterectomy, the nightmare of any woman just for the name of justice," Fred effectively shrieked, pounding his fists against the proximal wall.

"Fool her. If she shut up, she wouldn't be here. Mafia is at large scale, bro," Matthew kept on attacking, virtually challenging Fred more. He was catatonic, impassive, strangely numb.

"Even to the price of lives?" Fred asked, turning around with ill-conceited impatience glittering in his pupils.

"Especially to the price of lives," Matthew replied with a hint of superiority. The same dazzling smile, filled with scoff appeared on his face.

"You make me sick. All the oaths and laws mean nothing to you," Fred groaned, giving up any last doze of hope he could have ever mustered. He strained himself from any physical violence, muttering positive words in his mind like a mute litany.

"Your point?" Matthew half-exclaimed, raising his pitch-black, stuffy eyebrows. "Oh, and just tell her and her little lover boy they should defend their backs," He concluded mysteriously, the loquacious phrase coming out of his inner insides quickly. He turned his head to the side, breathing in loudly, lounging gait and lordly abhorrence in his throat.

Fred felt a rush of worry chasing down his spine, the haphazard ostentation sinking in the pit of his constricted stomach. With his back turned to the suspect and a hissing murmur unconsciously formed, his mind drifted to Chase, who was supposedly amidst great danger.

* * *

Chase was irreversibly drained. He had run entire floors with Cameron in his secure grasp, had maintained an alert pace despite the desperate urge to apply a hoarded vengeance.

Slumped in a puffy armchair, the measured confusion retreated from his soul, all the mean trickeries clear as daylight. With his head bowed to the side, exhaustion was running wildly in his veins. At least, Cameron's rhythmic breathing drew him to closure, to calmness.

"Uhm," Cameron's mortifying whimper startled him, the darkest scenarios forming in his peripheral view.

"Hey, don't try to talk. It's okay. You've been drugged by a pervert, but I put you on an Ativan IV and everything will be fine," Chase came by her side immediately, the mistaken assumption she was thoroughly hurt fading. Her blue-hued pupils were glistening with vitality, no worries affronting Chase now.

"Who-who?" Cameron whispered diligently and almost silently, forcing herself to stay awake. Her eyelids were continuously fluttering with heavy, mordant fatigue.

"It doesn't matter right now. You just need to rest. It's been a really rough night for you," Chase tried to avoid that traumatizing conversation with her, knowing how much tension would settle on her.

"I know," Cameron replied soothingly, sleeping slowly overcoming her. "Hold me?" Her request seemed plain, but it had a sort of mouthing amplitude, yearning back to the days when cuddling was on their daily basis.

Chase could conform to her motley wish, encircling her waist gracefully. His heart was utterly performing stunts, his oracular gut telling him their love was again blossoming.

* * *

In the peaceful stillness that installed just before dawn, light propagated partially in the room, cradling Chase's brooding figure and brusquely wrinkled outfit.

A repetitive clinking sound interrupted his slumber, the pedestrian vigor and fear overwhelming him along with the sound. He fumbled for his phone, acutely knowing that he needed Fred, his peerless raconteur, to update him on the labyrinthine situation.

"Hey! How's Cameron? Still unconscious?" A throaty voice inquired from the end line. Fred was sitting in the stinging, frigid wind, outside the police station, trembling with anxiety.

"She woke up two hours ago. The Ativan in saline solution is really working. Did the police resolve anything?" Chase answered cautiously, glancing at the unmoving body frapped on the lilac bedsheets. He stood up, striding to the far corner of the room, where his penitential cried would not be heard.

"Not much. The bastard refuses to talk. He keeps on defending himself, denying all the accusations we had invoked," Fred complained rather loudly, wandering on the unlit street with trudging steps. He was well aware of Cameron's health and sanity being in jeopardy, because of her everlasting fight for the querulous truth.

"Is there anything we can do? There weren't any witnesses to prove we're right," Chase asked fearfully. In the opaquely lit corner, his thoughts were in full swing, barely contenting to blur his judgement.

"The thing is that the operation is much greater than you might think," Fred said skeptically, the rapacious speculation he had previously heard still ringing in his mind. He roughly shoved his hands in his pockets, still quivering with restraint grief.

"So, we're basically under their supervision?" Chase asked incredulously, starting to rationalize how great this whole paraphernalia might be.

"Even worse. He threatened Cameron. And you. The best thing to do right now is fled away, as far as you can," Fred advised breathlessly, trying to protect them both from the imminent, explosive retribution.

"To where? She's even proclaimed dead in some paperwork. Our hands are tied to the back," Chase whined loudly, genteel cynicism creeping in his tone. He parted his blonde hair rapidly and hastily, sinking in the abyss.

"Not necessarily. There's a place that is much too obvious for the operators to search. I'll tell you that in person, I don't want any complications if the phone is registered somehow," Fred sustained his theory, giving an evasive answer. His eyes wandering to the sides, uneventful circumstances running around him, Fred left with quickened strides, seeking warmth indoors.

"Okay, we'll keep in touch," Chase replied with amiable solicitude, slightly doubting Fred's intentions.

Chase bumped his dizzy head on the wall, closing his eyes, mentally making an analytical survey of all that had happened. The undeniable love, attraction and responsibility that dragged him into this anguish of struggle was still his detriment. He was nowhere close to giving up.

A gentle squeak of the rusty springs made him turn around, Cameron coming to reality with coy reluctance. She was still half-drugged and cramped with unusual energies.

"Chase? What's going on?" Cameron asked immediately as she gained strength, his name dancing across her ardent, rosy lips.

"Nothing important, love. How are you feeling?" Chase replied sensitively, the nickname spilling out of his mouth unknowingly. His resistless might and resilient spirit were again active around her.

"My head is killing me and my throat is a little bit dry," Cameron replied, making the subtle effort of standing upright.

"It should be. Your pupils are still dilated, you still have to keep your IV," Chase came even closer to the modestly build bed and examining her with riveted attention.

"What happened the guy I was with last night? I just remembered I was at the party with someone," Cameron wanted to know eagerly, nervously moisturizing her lips.

"Allison, we have to leave. We received a threat," Chase refuted, gently squeezing her right palm. His tenacious memory was propelling him to fled right in that second, to rescue her from the epicenter of the horrible disaster.

"From who?" Cameron asked with utter shock in her voice. She raised her eyebrows succulently high, wondering with tepid conviction what her destiny would be.

"We'll have to delve into that more deeply. What matters is that we leave effectively immediately," Chase pressed the issue further, the wish of getting her to complete safety driving him to desperation.

"You need to know what you are getting into. I have in a purse enough information to destroy one of the biggest pharmaceutical firms. I don't know if I can accept all your sacrifice," Cameron said brokenly, salty water gathering around the blue of her eyes. A needless depression pervaded her insides as she regarded Chase with dismay.

"I don't care about it and I'm willing to go to any length for your sake," Chase reassured her, skipping over any nefarious scheme that would be put in their pursue.

"Then I have to be completely honest with you," Cameron admitted shamefully, lowering her piercing gaze.

"You haven't been all this time?" Chase inquired with drowsy worry in his pupils.

"There's a small detail that I've intentionally left out," Cameron admitted slowly, retracting her hand, oddly preparing him for a sluggish resolution. "Chase, I was three months pregnant when I got stabbed," She said with a heavy sigh, the toilsome and titanic exposure of the facts wearing her off. She broke down in hysterical sobs, crying for a lost life, for the irredeemable rapture he would suffer.

"So, it's all my fault," Chase tried to comprehend, unavailing consolation and despair hitting him at once.

"I'm indeed a criminal." The affirmation is muttered before Chase could even react, a part of his soul dying.

 **Author's Note:** Back at home, having epiphanies from too many romantic movies in a row, here's another chapter.

Read and Review! :*


	9. Chapter 9 - Undercover

Phoenix

T.V. Show: House MD

Pairing: Chase/Cameron

Author: Foxes' Dreams

Summary: Tense with the anguish of spiritual struggle, Chase is no longer able to defeat the trauma of being alone. Even though he had been missing Cameron's cautious whispers of innocence and complexity, her return might be the real approach of doom.

* * *

Chapter 9 - Undercover

It was like an odd kind of sober melancholy was overwhelming Chase. With wobbly steps mostly clouded by insomnia, he was searching for a targeted file. In the labyrinthine halls of the archive, he was just one moving and shadowy figure, looking for proof.

Chase was thoroughly aware of his misplace. In the heart of the FBI center, he was intrusive, but truth thumped and ached to be revealed.

The mundane letters were mingling in his fuzzy mind, Cameron's name pervading his instinctive intellect.

Reaching the wanted file with ruthless tremors seizing his hand, Chase was stunned by its heaviness and exquisite leather cover. Marching through the darkness, Chase was able to reach a corner table, fetching a flashlight from the inner pocket of his cream-hued shirt and started rummaging through the yellowish and humid pages.

The information curling before his eyes seemed too personal as though meant to delude and sadden him at the same time.

The upcoming lines just made goosebumps erupt on his skin, blood curling in veins and solidifying momentarily. "37 year-old female, stab wounds to the abdomen. 11 weeks pregnant, suffered a miscarriage and severe bleeding. Deceased 10:47 am, 4h of March."

A sobbing wail almost escaped Chase's swollen and pink lips, a silent and muffled tear still grazing his cheek. He was beyond tired and scrupulously aphasic, dreaming of a dead future that crumbled to ashes before him. Closing the file with a neurotic bump, he released just an erratic gasp, buried feelings rising from their respective sepulchers.

Decisive steps and slightly inflamed face, Chase exited the fastidious building through the narrow porthole-shaped window. At least, he still had Cameron to save and reinforce.

* * *

The hotel room was deadly silent. Three occupants of it were speechless, the prolix narrative refusing to lighten the tenses atmosphere.

Fred was poised on an uncomfortable chair, a promiscuous multitude of ideas surging through his mind. Chase was sitting by the minuscule and hermetically closed window, a mortified coldness still keeping him unaware and indolent. A mouthing amplitude was within him, but nothing could warm his sorrow and depression.

Cameron was vegetatively sitting on the bed, inexplicable reluctance and inexpressible benignity creeping in her looks. The drugs has a devastating effect on her, slowing her senses and draining her of energy. She kept throwing prying glimpses at Chase, tears stinging behind her eyes, loquacious reassurances failing her.

"I know this is awkward for you at this stage of the game, but we need to talk," Fred broke the icy tranquility and forestalling both of their attentions. "Cameron, do you feel up to listen to me carefully?" He asked with shameful worry in his voice, looking at her fiercely and precisely.

"I'm fine now. Just say what you have to and we'll be moving on," Cameron said with a faint whisper and broken tone, not moving a full inch.

"You with me as well, bud?" Fred targeted Chase as well, seeing him in his lowest degradation.

Chase turned around abruptly, quizzical and longing gait encircling the scarlet redness in his pupils.

"Cameron, bluntly said, you are in great danger. The man's aim wasn't just to drug you, but to do you in," Fred announced terribly low, averting his gaze and regretting his harshness.

"Matthew? Fred, we know him. He never seemed to be so absorbed into boss's business," Cameron said in reply, pitching her voice with guttural incoherence. Struggling to sit, she was vainly trying to comprehend the danger.

"He is now. He used you. He played with both of our trusts. He knows that you have enough evidence to convict the whole company. They all want you down," Fred continued, rambling purposefully and emphasizing how great the whole operation was. He leaned forward, the graphic portrayal sickening him as well.

"I'll change my identity again, not much of a deal, move to the northern point of America," Cameron said, sighing loudly.

"That will be impossible. They tracked you at this very conference. They are entirely able to track you anywhere. Chronologically, it will be a piece of cake to see all the requests for false IDs," Fred contraindicated, reminding Cameron how lengthy the ramifications of the business were.

"Then, I should easily hand them the papers and start living my own life without fear," Cameron moaned horrifyingly low, regretting the fatal disclosure, everything. She was almost close to crying, sobbing virtually silent, enclosing in her regret.

Chase was looking at her intently. With her palm against her warm forehead and with bloodshot pupils, his heart was breaking, his entire world shattering.

"And lose this fight? Just rationalize it for a moment. The African death rate will blow," Fred half-shrieked, vaulting to his feet in exasperation.

"And my life counts nothing?" Cameron argued, venom escaping her ardent lips like passionate verbosity.

"You are not alone into this, we are both here and so is the justice," Fred reasoned further, gesticulating continually and desperately, hands flying in every direction.

"Two against a whole troupe? Justice hasn't served me so far," Cameron reprehended brokenly, the mass of events crashing on her. One solitary tear grazed her cheek, showing her vulnerability.

"Okay, I get it. The operation is large and seems scary, but everyone calls for drastic, physical methods. We can be smarter," Fred tried to motivate her, to scare away all of her pessimism. His drastic came like a dread presence, but he was still willing to fight.

"It's a long shot," Cameron said slowly, but surely. A dull incongruity was in her eyes, plating them to the floor.

"Not if we act as I say. You both have to relocate to Princeton right now," Fred announced directly, with crowning indiscretion.

He sat on the verge of the old mattress, eying both of them, patiently waiting for a reaction. His plan seemed atrociously impossible, but it was the only light in this dark tunnel.

"This is nuts, Fred! Exactly in the first place they would check," Chase huffed loudly, crumbling on the edge of precipice. He stood up, matching Fred's posture, on different sides of the bed.

"It's as though you're sending me to the death row," Cameron exclaimed with the last drain of energy she had. The IV shook along with her, cryptical wires and tubes winding around her slender wrist.

"They can't find you when you aren't shown in any of the employment records," Fred said, quizzically composing his mater plan.

"How can we actually do that? The Dean of Medicine will not ignore a mysterious doctor treating his patients," Chase said non-committed, clenching slightly the underside of his jaw.

"Chase, Internet is a wonderful thing. You both worked for House for over four years. The corruptible, grouchy limp that knows no boundaries," Fred described House purely imaginative with compelling force.

"He is insane, but he wouldn't put up with such a master plan," Cameron said skeptically, her ascetic devotion for House kicking her guts.

"And the Dean of Medicine will have to be informed as well," Chase intruded in the conversation as well.

"The Dean of Medicine who happens to be your old fellow, Dr. Foreman," Fred replied quickly with a satisfying smirk across his partially damp face.

"He wouldn't agree to out plan in a billion years," Chase was still reticent and redolent, purely out of devotion for Cameron. Chase sat on the chromatically colored bedsheets, posing his assimilative power and closing distance. He was one step ahead in the right approach.

"He had been under the same influence as you both had. I'm sure recklessness is into him," Fred reasoned again, striding to sit by Chase, studying their assiduous faces.

"And to do what in Princeton? Medically speaking," Cameron asked, visibly concerned.

"You resume your work with House under no identity. You'll be able to be present during a DDX, but you can't approach the patient," Fred explained briefly to her, the assembled arguments coming to an end.

"I'm basically no one," Cameron said with abhorrent indignation.

"You are actually saving yourself from imminent death," Fred said curtly, lounging in her close proximity. "I know this job offer sucks, but it's all we have and the danger is possibly all gone," He continued, his dazed mind making him stutter over little syllables.

"And the trial still stands up?" She asked fearfully, almost retracting her words.

"Partially. Only if the waters calm in the company and their stalking stops, we'll go to court, sue them and get a protection order," Fred said, hoping he was speaking only truth and harsh truculence. Still, Cameron's eyes were glittering with bewilderment and insecurity.

"Fred, all that you said is utopian. What if I get killed while trying to get to Princeton?" Cameron half-shouted, her flesh burning up with utter frustration.

"Someone can see her in every corner," Chase aided her, confronting his companion with dawning instinct.

"That's why makeup was invented. You die your hair a striking new nuance, maybe shorten it, take glasses and eye lenses only on the road and for the first weeks in Princeton," Fred advised her gently, dazzling logics creeping in his sigh.

"Maybe keep them permanently," Cameron replied dearly, evicting another possibility.

"I don't think you'll have to. They will track Chase, for sure, they will see he's alone and will leave, following another lead," Fred continued with excessive zeal. Even while playing with exceptional magnitude, he remained optimistic.

"How come Chase will be alone?" Cameron asked incredulously.

"You'll be traveling separately, different companies, different hours, different landing airports. After the makeover, I'll escort you from the back," Fred reassured her, the fattening servitude almost flattering her.

"How can I travel with no ID?" She asked again, the doubts fading progressively.

"With the bus, no one will know. There are no checkpoints between the American states," Fred reminded her with fatiguing assertion. Deep down, after scrutinizing her petite form, he was even more propelled into finding a resolve.

"I don't know if it works," Chase said tactlessly.

"Oh, come on! Do an effort for the woman you singularly love," Fred revealed with shocking easiness. "It's the obvious truth, guys," He reasoned, feeling the burn of awkward, minimal glances.

"I can't drag you into this, I wouldn't forgive myself if you go through another traumatic event, besides Dibala and the baby," Cameron looked at Chase tearfully, knowing the agonizing augury could destroy him and alongside an adjacent part of herself.

"I can't let you rot in some periphery, praying you'll see tomorrow's daylight. As I said, healing comes together," Chase gazed in her eyes, looking for some immeasurable confirmation. He promptly found a flitter of excitement, of sinking affection.

"I'm going to befriend with the enemy, see what I can get from the people who were at the party," Fred announced, breaking the hypnotic elixir between their gazes. "You just stay here and don't make any noises. The room is supposed not to be something more than a closet," He said somehow heartily, the words coming too early and obtrusive.

"And how did you arrange it like this?" Chase asked with a gasp.

"The owner uses it as a security room. I rented it just in case," Fred answered mysteriously with an observant tact.

"Allison, I'm scared as you can see, but I'll not be stopping fighting," Fred reassured her, seeing the distress quivering on her lips. "Are we a team?" He asked intently.

"We are a team," Cameron's reply was filled with occult sympathy, a sentiment she drearily missed.

In the soft illumination of the dawn, alone in the modest chamber, Chase realized he had been given a chance to the visage of life he persisted in finding.

 **Author's Note:** Slight delay, my godmother was in town and I was really eager to meet with her.

Read and Review! :*


	10. Chapter 10 - Volatile

Phoenix

T.V. Show: House MD

Pairing: Chase/Cameron

Author: Foxes' Dreams

Summary: Tense with the anguish of spiritual struggle, Chase is no longer able to defeat the trauma of being alone. Even though he had been missing Cameron's cautious whispers of innocence and complexity, her return might be the real approach of doom.

* * *

Chapter 10 - Volatile

In the sorely overcrowded room, Fred was marching relentlessly, pertinent questions tempting his mendacious tongue.

After no more than a second of searching, he spotted a largely limbed figure, much familiar to him from the fatalistic night. He was well determined to end this pestiferous assemble, with the price of his own revelation.

Sweeping two large cans of nonalcoholic beverage from the bar, he walked towards the man, who was sitting still, checking his phone, showing just playful wit.

"So, mate, have you been to that ending party? It was quite a dud," Fred approached him with intent, placing the two bottles on the bistro-styled with a soft thud.

"Oh, I was there. What a stupid fight. It's always like that in love triangles, two stupid male lovers fighting for supremacy," The brunette male answered rather maliciously, gulping largely and greedily from one bottle, without any polite introductions.

"Do you think that was between them?" Fred asked incredulously, mimicking perfectly an odd kind of pleasurable excitement. He tried to keep himself from commenting, diving in sepulchral quietness.

"Of course. All the men were looking at the doctor's moves and the blonde guy just thought she had to be his propriety," A pair of stonily hazel eyes transfixed Fred, muttering words with slight disgust and offensive certainty.

"Oh, I get it. Doctors, by definition, tend to be overbearing," Fred said, battling his own demons. "Have you heard about the whole drug deal?" He inquired rapidly, not pondering the impact of his questions.

The zealous man cracked his digits nervously, before bursting aloud. "No! Something related to that?"

"Yep. Actually, the girl had been drugged by the tall, chestnut-haired guy," Fred explained, avoiding with carefulness the sententious details that would unmask his knowledge and opinion.

"Wow! Really? From what I've heard, it sounded to be just a romance dalliance," His rosy lips furrowed, trying to correct his mistake immediately.

"It was far more serious," Fred said convincingly, putting extreme emphasis on his words.

Exactly as relaxation started to overcome his body and the hazy scent of the liquid grew heavier, Fred realized that his last line wasn't just an incalculable attempt to mischief.

"What have you heard exactly?" He asked noisily, raising his head triumphantly.

"I heard that tall guy telling someone else to take care of the situation. I thought he was referring to beat the blonde guy a little bit, but he sounded deadly serious," The imposing figure recounted vivaciously, his fingers dancing on the edge of the bottle.

"Where is the guy right now?" Fred asked suspiciously fast, concern and worry settling in the pit of his stomach.

"Ever since yesterday, he has been breaking in room like crazy. He already marked an entire floor," The guy stated with redemption, the revelation making goosebumps arise on Fred's skin.

His pupils dilated, tremors were seizing his body and in a blink, he was already running, an incessant volume of blood pulsing in his veins.

"Hey! Where are you going? The beer is turning warm," A fading voice shouted, the fancy and humorist huff bypassing Fred completely.

In that moment, it was just him, the linoleum bouncing against gravity, his labored breath and pure desire.

* * *

The isolated chamber from the fifth floor was succumbing itself with a sterile odor, the silence was striking. Chase was doing nothing but stare blankly at the old and rustily colored wallpaper, stroking without stop the growing stubble on his jaw. He was acutely aware of the distance evading them, always loitering to bring his faze upright.

"Chase-" Cameron started shyly, clearing with moisture the slightly sore throat. "We really have to talk. I know the pregnancy reveal was traumatic for you, but you have to cope with it. Otherwise, it will eat away from you," She exhaled loudly, hermetically closing her eyelids. His uncharacteristic lack of response startled in her a rush of adrenaline, eyes filling inconsequently with unshed tears.

Chase only frowned deeply, massaging his forehead forcefully, almost drawing himself to the verge of pain and forgetting.

"There's nothing to be talked about. The fetus is dead, we missed our chance," He said ultimately, standing up abruptly, seeking with despair to escape this barbaric torture. Chase was gulping greedily oxygen.

"What chance?" Cameron asked flabbergasted. With a deaf tension and despotic pressure settling in her joints, she raised herself on the lilac bed, supporting her head on the maroon and lithely undecorated headboard.

"The chance to be parents, Allison. Long time ago, that was our aim," Chase turned in her direction, vicious coldness propagated from his flint blue eyes.

He was drearily fighting his own demons, rage threatening to defeat. All his past visions were sadistically crumbling into ashes. Flippant and rambunctious, he clenched his beard, awaiting the surprise to clear off from her stunned face.

"We would have got back together if I had told you I was pregnant?" Cameron asked brokenly. Fueled by human affection, she watched Chase's face soften.

"We would have worked on it," He started cautiously, sitting on the edge of the canopy with a gentile swish. "I would have done anything to see my son or daughter happy," Chase declared atrociously slow, watching his confession reverberating in the whole body which started to tremor visibly.

"I know. God, I'm so sorry," Cameron sobbed incoherently, tears flowing freely with vernal freshness. She tried vainly to mask the tears with the back of her palm, her entirety drowning in the saline solution.

"Look, you have nothing to apologize for. It wasn't meant to be. You couldn't have known that he was going to stab you. He earned your trust," Chase placed two robust and straight fingers under her chin, their gazes meeting in an electrifying symbiosis.

"I had just found out a few days before it happened. A part of me was guiding me back into your arms, the other one was telling me to stay as far away as possible," Cameron said decisively, catching in a fierce, vilely grip his wrist.

Conjoined with their hands, both pairs of eyes dancing with lust and nostalgia, they were one. After years of lost endearment, a scintillating chance was in their horizon.

"I was always willing to talk to you. Especially when it regards a person coming from my blood," Chase whispered soothingly, restraining at only few centimeters from her warming face.

"I've never doubted you. And neither did your son," Cameron said with sincerity glittering in her eyes. The scent radiating from his proximity was overwhelming and common, bringing her back to the luminous past, where they were profusely happy. They were stilled, keeping their bodies at bay and secluding themselves just to feel, without distance, shyness or painful regret.

"So, you're sure it would have been a boy?" Chase asked with a secluded sigh. He was nowhere willing to escape the earthly splendor of her lips.

"Or a little girl with blue eyes and wavy blonde hair," Cameron grinned vividly, cupping with warmth his embossed cheekbone. Soon, a shade of sadness washed over her. "But I lost it," Cameron chocked, feeling just guilt and congestion forming in her mouth.

"Hey, don't torment yourself over that. You don't have control over the craziness and recklessness of other people. I'm not judging you," Chase reassured gently, his hot and aromatic breath tingling her responsive skin, just below her chin.

"I know, it's just hard to cope with it. It's like I managed to destroy a major part of your soul," Cameron justified herself into words, lowering her gaze momentarily as eyes filled with dread and droll incongruity.

"I forgave you. Everything you did was honorable and no one couldn't have seen such an assault coming," Chase said with avowed intention. His gaze was constantly trying to match her eyesight, to seek her undisclosed desires. "As weird as it may sound, there are other ways to have a family. Maybe someday, that will come for us, too," He continued more enthusiastically, seeing that her balmy and baleful glances were towards him.

"Us?" Cameron exclaimed with half-amusement, half-compunction, shooting her eyebrows.

"Oh, I - I didn't mean that, not collective," Chase stammered to correct himself, swearing mutely under his breath, convicting the sudden euphoric vision that overtook him.

"No, don't correct yourself. I would have said the same," Cameron replied oddly calmly, as though embracing the prospect with serene leisure. Her eyes were sparkling with a sort of hope and certainty Chase had never seen previously.

Their lips, which were sorely parted in keen expectancy, touched, glamorous sparks flying around. The elixir was heady, intoxicatingly engaging them both. The shared kiss was unique, unlike anything they had ever ladled, slow, delicate, devoid of even the barest complications.

Their labored breaths were gasping in unison, craving the feathery approach once more. Their eyes, dilated with mixed emotions and dizzy with the spell of bodily approach, met intensely. Just as the passion was recoiling, an erratic beeping sound breaking the mesmerizing moment.

"Sorry, I have to pick up. It's Fred," Chase said silently, grazing the side of Cameron's angelic face with his thumb.

With Cameron's aligned gaze following him consciously, Chase bolted out of bed, guiding his vibrating phone to his ear, still guarded by celestial joy. He was in no mood for bandying talk.

"What's up?" He chirped loudly, furrowing his slightly swollen and scarlet lips.

"Man, it is not good, it's awful. The guy has an alliance and he is trying to find you both. He's now rummaging through the third floor and the back door is secured. You need to run away, stat!" Fred ordered, utter despair laving his words. He was also gesticulating wildly. With the heart jouncing barbarically in his chest and sequestrated in a dark corner of the diner, he was beyond recognition, losing temper and self-control synchronizingly.

"And where do we go?" Chase asked blatantly, baffled and bewildered, lost in this horrendous maze. Cameron was confused as well, already feeling herself falling from the verge of precipice.

"To a motel in the middle of nowhere. You have to stay there until I manage to put him on the wrong trace," Fred ordered impatiently, avoiding to beguile the tedious hours. Even the passing seconds were crucial.

Dropping his phone abruptly, Chase scooped Cameron up with energetic and panicky force, aloofness taking over his control. Striding to the parking lot with inhuman pace, he was glad to find all the hallways completely deserted, no even a scarce trace of person surprising them. They were speeding on the highway moments later, clinging onto each other for support.

Finding themselves entrapped in another monochromatic and inodorous chamber, Chase and Cameron could only envision the worst, both trembling with coldness and dreary fear.

"I'm so scared, Chase. What if we don't make it?" Cameron inquired with compelling force, hiding behind the fluffiness of the blanket she was desperately holding onto.

"I'll get us both to Princeton safe and sound, I promise," Chase answered, coming to stand on the bed, sensing the connotative damage installing in her heart.

"Hold me, please?" She asked brokenly, looking at him with genuine repugnance.

In the middle of the night, with the two holding each other with enamored earnestness, the screen of Chase's phone lit strangely, signaling the arrival of a message, which was truly atrocious.

 _If you want to play games, we are going to play games. But be prepared to lose._

They couldn't take the world tonight, after all.

 **Author's Note:** Unfortunately, I have to leave promptly for the capital tomorrow and then another literary project awaits me. This means the next update will be in two weeks. I'm sorry for the delay, but the whole paraphernalia of trying to sit a proficient exam is wearing me off.

Read and Review! :*


	11. Chapter 11 - Anew

Phoenix

T.V. Show: House MD

Pairing: Chase/Cameron

Author: Foxes' Dreams

Summary: Tense with the anguish of spiritual struggle, Chase is no longer able to defeat the trauma of being alone. Even though he had been missing Cameron's cautious whispers of innocence and complexity, her return might be the real approach of doom.

* * *

Chapter 11 - Anew

Chase's heart was still thumping sinfully loudly, the obnoxious light reflecting on his face making him frown even deeper. The content of the threatening message was still pulsing vehemently in his ears, deafening him.

Cameron was poised between the two metallic front chairs, the skin stinging and aching with a shade of vascularized reddishness. She was profusely silent, a funeral gloom creeping in her eyes. She could just eye, with a furtive stare, Chase's fingers gripping decisively the wheel.

"Everything okay?" Chase asked worriedly. He had always had that sense of empathy, of galling thought and garbled information, always knowing when something was indeed bothering.

"Yeah, just a little anxious. It seems that maybe I should hide better than this," Cameron replied simply. Her pessimistic words were genuine, almost poured out from the deep scars that had slashed her flesh.

"Trust me, if they are indeed looking for my car, they will be subtle. They won't be pulling a stunt. Maybe they are just looking through the satellite. They'll just see me, peacefully driving to Princeton," Chase explained to her, occasionally tilting his head sideways. He was vertically trying to keep this demeanor, this mask of loneliness.

"I'm just paranoid, I know," Cameron sighed loudly. Maybe her justification was in the past events. She tried to lay down on the improvised shelter, between two bundles rags, which wanted to pass as blankets.

"I didn't say that. And you have every right to be anxious. Not everyday some corrupt people chase you," Chase said in reply, watching the black road ahead of him, quietly and virtually regretting the phrase.

"This isn't funny," Cameron huffed from behind him, trying to close her eyes in camaraderie mockery.

"You have to relax, Allison. If you panic with no reason, the situation will look much morbid and scary," Chase tried to reason, deep down, knowing that his words were filled with bittersweet and acid irony. The curbs in front of him started to look like a maze.

"Yeah, I know. There are so many other things we haven't discussed. Where am I going to stay? For how long?" Cameron inquired, gesticulating wildly.

"We agreed you'll be staying at my place. For as long as it's needed," Chase put on emphasis, his heroic fortitude stepping before him.

"I know you offered that to me, but there's no payback. Where does that leave us? The two of us," Cameron asked gently, pressing the issue not more than politely. The fuzzy and fluffy grayness of the ceiling started to become hypnotic.

"Somewhere in between," Chase claimed mystically, with obvious rifts between words.

With a sudden contortion of his hand, he clasped hers, indolently ignoring the edifice of evil quickly following from behind.

For once, the world started to revolve normally, not any hooligan wind crisping their skins.

* * *

The night seemed to foggy, too delirious, different white phantasmic forms dancing in front of her eyes. It seemed to be a sadistic ritual.

Where was she? Somewhere between life and death, purgatory? Her feet seemed to be swollen and deformed, walking with struts. Her head was spinning, dizziness installing as a blur before her pupils.

"Are you sure the right thing, Allison? Why are so eager to expose yourself like that?" A masculine voice asked from behind her. The tone of the mysterious man startled her in slight familiarity, into anew perspective.

Cameron turned, causing the foam veil to twirl around her petite, awfully calloused body. In front of her, cradled by a semi-dark background, stood her dead husband, in an incarnation of flesh and bones, fringing and trembling with unease. He was the same vivid person she met before the fatal diagnosis, even with blush in his cheeks.

"What are you doing here? You should be dead," Cameron said acidly, stepping back. She instantly condemned the accusatory tone.

"I am dead as you know, but it's my duty to haunt when it's the case, especially when you're basically put yourself on a death row," He said electrifyingly low, growling the words. He went on to approach her until she was able to see the arising goosebumps just below his chin.

"I am not doing that. I'm trying to unveil all the bad that has been done to the African children," Cameron tried to defend herself, her gleaming eyes scrutinizing him.

"Skip this lame savior act, Allison. You have limits and this is way beyond your attitude," He replied vehemently. He made the radical gesture of grabbing her slender shoulder, strenuously begirding his nails in her skin, drawing a circular pattern.

"I have no boundaries when it comes to my job," Cameron almost barked at him, writhing out of his intoxicating grip. It wasn't the man she once fell for, it was a voice entrapped in his body, which she evinced with displeasure.

"Maybe when it comes to your feelings," He challenged.

"Excuse me?" She asked incredulously, simultaneously feeling a slight breeze combing through her disheveled strands.

"Does it have absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you knew your ex would jump in your defense?" The immaterial form stepped forward, leaning so dangerously close that his warm breath was tickling the side of her neck.

"It has nothing to do with Chase. It's not some twisted kind of vengeance," Cameron growled at him, the profuse need to defend Chase was utterly overwhelming. Before, it was as though their relationship was just some hot frenzy, maybe something coped with affection, or hortatory swiftness. "Wait, does this bother you? Me moving on with my life?" She stopped abruptly from her speech, drawing in a gulp of air.

"Of course not. Allison, you know that I love you and I want you to be happy. But in this moment, you're driving yourself towards destruction," Her dead husband told her harshly enough, taking hold of her wrist, avoiding the area of her fingers, the much too intimate level.

"And leave all this fraud just flow away? Maybe fled away from the man I love at this moment," Cameron retorted quickly, feeling the blood boiling with jarrings. She was beyond sated with this kind of artificial compassion, when she was completely legitimate and capable of making a change.

"Let the trial go. Chase deserves better. He is already beyond scarred by the fact that he won't be able to have his own children, the ones he dearly hoped for," He replied to her, hitting a sensitive note. His leering, sheepish smile disappeared from his face, as though this inability was hitting him hard as well.

"And you would be okay with me moving on radically? You have always been in the back of my mind," Cameron asked, her pupils dilating with confusion and awareness.

"Make him happy. I'll be happy as well. And skip the whole drama act," The man stated vehemently, stepping away from her progressively. It was a second goodbye for them, much bittersweet and agonizing, lethargic and lingering.

"I can do both, simultaneously," Cameron shouted with her raw voice. The distance between them was not extraordinary, the intent driving her with insatiable need.

"No, you can't!" He shouted back, oddly mutely from a far and darkened corner, filled with dreadful webs.

"No one knows. Maybe the court will give me a restraint order or jail everyone for life," Cameron said, curbing her upper lip before nibbling it between her white teeth.

"Hypothetically. I think you just want to see your body lying in the dumpster, with absolutely no one. You would be freaking alone, Allison," The ghost strenuously yelled back, fading with the considerable distance.

The night was in full swing, just before leaving the space for a limpid and ferric sunrise. Small droplets of water were running on the window pane, as well on Cameron's forehead, who was struggling and turning violently between the satin sheets.

"Hey, Allison, wake up!" Chase ordered decisively, jolting Cameron with force until she would regain consciousness. He had a manly reticence to touch her this firmly, especially with her mantling past.

"Uhm?" Cameron gasped, still keeping her eyelids half-closed. She bolted upright with a surprising move, her throat constricting with staccato coughs.

"You were having a nightmare. I had to wake you up," Chase told her soothingly, before she collapsed motionless and catatonic in his extended arms.

"Chase, this -what I'm doing- I'm not using you. I was truly desperate and -" She sobbed uncontrollably for a tragic moment, Chase's heart shattering with every strangled noise.

"Don't ever apologize. I know what you were intensions are," Chase replied with distress clearly lacing every word that escaped his mouth. His fingers were gently massaging her scalp and the rebellious blonde strands.

"I wasn't with you in your darkest times. After Dibala died, I wasn't even willing to see you at the least," Cameron said brokenly, obstreperous confession running wildly and somehow muffled by Chase's shirt.

"Things were different back then. I lied to you, my wife, when I should have come clean in that night," He said apologetically as well.

"I should have stayed, I know I should have. But, after you decided to stay with House, it was as though you were choosing the job over me," Cameron continued, tears clouding her observant eyes. She was utterly broken, weak and vulnerable, drawing minimum force from his firm hold.

"I wasn't, I would never do that. In my stupid ego, I thought leaving meant giving up, living with the guilt," Chase sighed inertly, throwing his head backwards in a lousy attempt to erase that memory.

"I would have been here, waiting for you to heal. I know I would never do something to hurt you," Cameron whispered gently, slightly freeing herself from that grip and openly disseminated warmth. She could only feel oppressive emptiness.

"Neither would I," Chase whispered back, gazing in the blue of her eyes.

The lips locked perfectly in the embrace they both needed as genuine reassurance. All the limbs were limpid, only the mouths waltzing in unison. For once, there was only calmness, an overflowing tranquility in Cameron's heart.

"And this, where does it leave us?" She asked giddily right after she pulled back.

"Exactly where we should be," Chase replied with outspoken happiness, stroking the upper side of her flushed cheek.

"Just tell me everything from now on, even the smallest and most insignificant details," Cameron said regulatory, grinning from ear to ear and linking their fingers somewhere in that maze of material and fallen tears.

It was a sweet taste, a well-known mix of sugar and endless cups of coffee, that rested heavily on Cameron's lips. She allowed it abide for a while.

 **Author's Note:** I decided that a weekly update is the way to go. In this way, I can handle both my studies and my fic. Probably the update day will be Tuesday.

Read and Review! :*


	12. Chapter 12 - Sudden

Phoenix

T.V. Show: House MD

Pairing: Chase/Cameron

Author: Foxes' Dreams

Summary: Tense with the anguish of spiritual struggle, Chase is no longer able to defeat the trauma of being alone. Even though he had been missing Cameron's cautious whispers of innocence and complexity, her return might be the real approach of doom.

* * *

Chapter 12 - Sudden

The leafless shrubbery from around the hospital seemed to be attacked by an odd kind of stinging wind, bringing indoors all the discomfort of the decayed autumn.

The department was not only stuffy, but filled with some irredeemable tension that was floating around. House's frantic barks were fearsome, the slam of his cane only adding stress in the present situation.

"Think, people!" House half-screeched, violently slashing the nearby glass cabinet with the side of his cane. He had never been so outrageous, so abhorrent, mostly treating those cases with irony and a defying, scrupulous tactic. It as though he was nagged by something that could overpower him, much to Chase's dismay and roll of eyes.

"It could be anything, House. If we had more time to run some special tests-" Thirteen tried to reason, furiously searching the file, a throbbing headache installing in her temples.

"There's no time! Our patient is already dying!" House barked insidiously, not even virtually caring about the lack of information. He was just walking round, with vehemence, flipping his cane relentlessly.

"A meningioma explains best the focal seizures," Taub tried to offer, raising his hand like a dotty school child, earning just a sly smirk from House.

"Not necessarily. Focal seizures are the classic signal of epilepsy. A rare kind of it that still hasn't manifested," Thirteen contraindicated, gazing occasionally and deeply in Taub's eyes just like a silent plea to keep the conversation going strongly, steadily.

"That's out of a science fiction report. Maybe we were misled and the seizures are actually Jacksonian seizures and then, we are in the wrong area of the brain. We have to search the entire primary motor cortex," Taub said with little rifts between the syllables. He was virtually questioning the salability of his statements while eying a languid, bored Chase almost dozing off.

"Chase, what do you think?" House asked bitterly, watching a bewildered Chase stutter back into reality with vicious displeasure and distaste. His eyes were just transfixing him, seeking greedily to find that thread of inquiry that was keeping Chase beyond preoccupied.

"Yeah, I'll go with that one," He just replied absently, toying the pen between his fingers. He was genuinely avoiding House's gaze, knowing he would inevitably have to face his slathering accusations and give unwilling, unaccountable fable.

"Which one?" House pointed out, knowing it would troublesome, labyrinthine. There was no motion, no sounds, only the imaginary daggers escaping from his piercing, malicious stare.

"Incredible contribution in the DDX so far," House sneered at him, oddly winking. "Team, go do an emergency MRI. I don't care who's scheduled first, use the reserve machine," House ordered with his usual paramount authority. Thirteen and Taub stumbled to the exit, leaving Chase only a couple of steps behind. All of their heads were bowed, ridiculously paralyzed by House's harsh comments.

"And Chase, try to clear that image of a blonde sleeping in your bed," House mocked, receiving in response a couple of baffled stares.

"Oh, come on! You've managed to score another nun?" Taub joked even further while Thirteen vainly tried to hide her grin with her palm.

"I'll catch up with you later," Chase said dryly, pushing past his colleagues and utterly vanishing in the whirlwind of corridors and staff.

This time, their stares were acutely filled with partisan bewilderment, not knowing why House's joke upset him so drearily. They left in opposite directions, each dropping off their gazes, fondling their hands around themselves and just thinking.

* * *

It was well past lunch when Chase decided to go back to the diagnosis department. He was acting again with his knavish conduct, trying to be as formal as possible when presenting the issue to House.

House was actually spinning in his chair, tumbling his cane in the air with labored levity. His tongue was strapped between his lips, his hands working like frenzy to catch the wooden object.

"Spill the beans, mate. I know," House said with his metallic voice, not even bothering to cease his childish game.

"What do you know? Enlighten me, please," Chase said defensively, coming closer until his palms were horizontally pressed to the glass table. It was quite a jarring discord between the tough House and the present House. It was much to Chase's irritability.

"I know you've done the stupidest thing ever. Supposedly, love is blind, but this is totally irrefutable," House said in reply, the acid in his phrase more than obvious.

"House, focus! What part of this paraphernalia do you know?" Chase yelled, the compunction bursting out of him.

For once, House was totally fazed, wondering how violable was the present situation for him. Chase was just standing poised before him, not even slightly impressed by House's miscellaneous, voluntary yearnings.

"Basically the fact that you're hiding a certain so-called spy in your flat right at this moment," House said like an inoffensive story, coming to the same eye level as Chase. "Oh, and she responds to Cameron, honey or whatever codenames you might have," He continued with his rant, knowing this would settle Chase's nerves on the very last verge.

"This is utterly ridiculous," Chase scoffed, patting his disheveled beard. He took a couple of steps back, as though House's statement burned his flesh.

"Is it? Strangely, I received an anonymous call this morning, a husky voice begging me to hire her back and cover her existence for a while," House spat bitterly, collapsing ungracefully on the leathery strapped chair.

"Do you consider that?" Chase asked shyly, his iridescent pupils dilating and his overpower of self-confidence crumbling. Beyond intrigued by House's sudden change in demeanor, a slight sense of guilt crept in the pit of his tense stomach.

"So, Aussie, you're finally coming clean. I knew very well that Cameron would be at that conference. It was meant to be a trap for you, to stand up for yourself, not put the hang rope around your neck," House confessed, not even a drop of futile resentment lacing his words. He even settled his feet on the desk, subtly hinting his carelessness.

"What would you have wanted me to do? Leave her rot somewhere in the suburbs or try to protect her?" Chase inquired rhetorically from the middle of the room where he was rooted to the hardcore ground.

"Chase, this isn't-" House adopted a more protocolar attitude, abruptly rising in a sitting position, fingers intermingled atop a heap of scattered pages and scribbled anecdotes.

"You didn't know she was in such a mess, did you?" Chase chocked with wonder when he saw House's acute stammer. Taking heavily implanted steps, he was now back to gluing his elbows on the table, almost kneeling in front of House and his carnal glare.

"I didn't. I knew she was in trouble, but not that she's dallying with the national pharmacy," House admitted slowly, huffing loudly. Being wrong sucked.

"How could you find out? She covered all her tracks," Chase asked, confusion installing in the glitter of his eyes. House's overbearing knowledge had to know boundaries this particular time.

"A master wants to mourn his pupils, right?" House said with his ordinarily excessive manner. "I got a copy of her last medical record. It was impossible for her to stay alive for four hours while bleeding out two liters and having a placental abruption. Something was too suspicious," He vocalized, lounging easily on the chair. His hands came behind his head almost instantaneously, as though the simple act of blurting out facts was hideously sickening him.

"Huh, so basically it is just one of your foolish jokes that got out of control," Chase scoffed loudly, mirroring House's neutral posture, landing on the opposite chair with a loud thump and then, obliviously stretching until his muscles screeched with soreness.

"And you don't like the outcome?" House asked incredulously.

Chase frowned deeply, a paroxysm of anger submerging him completely. Of course, he was beyond grateful to have been a vital part in Cameron's rescue, but he was somehow offended by House's enticing implication. He was more willing to see the destiny bringing them back together, in a moment they both heavily craved that. Still, beyond all those insignificant details, Cameron's well-being came prioritary. No matter how times fate was a little too negative and obscurely unpleasant, their paths would still oddly intersect. His mind immediately drifted back to Cameron, who was probably curled up on the couch, patiently waiting.

"Bring her here tomorrow and don't make a fuss of this," House announced, startling Chase out of his reverie.

"You're totally crazy! What would Foreman say?" Chase gasped, stilling one of his hands on his slightly trembling chest.

"Foreman already agreed," House threw the bomb, the craziness of the situation getting out of his hand. Chase was sitting cumbersome, wordlessly filing his mind for some phrase that would be an undisclosed apology.

Chase left the room with high-paced steps. The extremities of his lips curbed upward, dimples carving into the muscles of his high and slender cheekbones. He was truly euphoric, petulant to get home.

* * *

The inside of Chase's apartment was no longer bathed in colorless shadows and laced by an insidious smell. This time, Cameron's delicate voice was singing some unknown, still feathery, feisty verses, while her versatile hands worked relentlessly on the pan in front of her.

"Well, that's a sight I've really missed," Chase said sweetly, eying her with the deepest, truest affection he could ever muster.

"Oh, hey! Sorry for the mess, I tried to do something nice and it didn't really happen without accident," Cameron said half-laughingly, half-seriously, showing off a rosy pallor creeping in her pores.

"Hey, Allison, the intention matters. Come on, let's just sit on the couch and chat for a while," Chase promptly suggested, gripping her hand in a magnetic vice and steering her towards the main salon.

"How was your day?" Chase asked slowly, his words resembling more a soft purr. He kissed her cheek tenderly, relishing all the joy that clouded his mind the entire day.

"Nothing interesting happened. I tried to figure out where everything is stored around here. And then, I watched a chick-flick as always," Cameron smiled profusely, a glassy smoothness settling before her eyes.

"House knows about everything, even the whole FBI stunt," Chase said, avoiding her eyesight, knowing that this fluid idea would inconsequently hit her.

"How could he find out even the smallest details?" Cameron asked, her mouth hanging agape. After just brief days of fond enthusiasm and normal life, the world was crumbling repetitively.

"He has his ways, you know. But he did agree to get you back on his team with no practice license. Even Foreman agreed to that," Chase said, almost interrupting her. He desperately wanted to get this secret off his chest, to bring some festive illumination in Cameron's life. Cameron could only gasp, soft salty tears glistering in her pupils.

"It looks like he had received a mysterious phone call a few days ago that stated exactly what we've been talking with Fred about. I bet my money on him being the person who called," Chase told her, gripping her hand in an attempt to reassure her everything was fine, nothing was just a false illusion.

"So, is it sure? I can come back to work?" Cameron asked vivaciously.

"Yep. You can start anytime you want," Chase told her soothingly. "Your life is finally turning around in the right direction," He continued, an exalted grin numbing his facial expression.

With Cameron collapsed against his sternum, sobbing with both fancy and surprising breaths, Chase was somewhere in his own realm, grinning wildly, and tangling his fingers in Cameron's blonde locks.

 **Author's Note:** Back on track! Introducing a new character in the next chapter. Also, for all the poetic fics, checkout Petit97's lastest story, it's truly a wonder! :)

Read and Review! :*


	13. Chapter 13 - Intrusive

Phoenix

T.V. Show: House MD

Pairing: Chase/Cameron

Author: Foxes' Dreams

Summary: Tense with the anguish of spiritual struggle, Chase is no longer able to defeat the trauma of being alone. Even though he had been missing Cameron's cautious whispers of innocence and complexity, her return might be the real approach of doom.

* * *

Chapter 13 - Intrusive

It was the stillness of pre-dawn, perfectly calming and humid, only minuscule rays of sunshine filtering through the half-opaque blinds. Underneath the cozy comforter, Cameron's hand was resting just above Chase's thumping heartbeat, one leg intertangled with his, drawing out a closeness she had desperately craved. It was a brand new level of approach for them, as though the past was coming back in waves, reviving the old and profuse days when they were not only simply happy, but belatedly accomplished.

Cameron could only purr in some moments, drawing out all the elation in a loud huff. Chase's grip tightened around her slender middle, leaving her breathless and panting, burying her face in his neck, in the aromatic scent of his cologne.

"So, I've been thinking," She finally said, entwining their wandering fingers atop his beautifully structured torso. Cameron was well aware of her mendacious idea, of the impact it might have, of the fragile stability of this newly found love.

"About what, love?" Chase said, dragging her arm along the curving side of her ribcage. The nickname was sweetly endearing, making Cameron blush and consequently plaster a shy, stilled and cracked smile.

"I shouldn't be telling you this. I know it's going to upset you anyway, and it just keeps bothering me," Cameron whispered, bolting upright, in her tentative position with her knees drawn up to the level of her trembling chin.

"You can tell me anything at anytime. I promised to be by your side no matter how hard the situation may be, so I'm here, all ears for you," Chase mirrored her movement, small squeaks of the bed causing deep perturbation in the stillness of dawn. His hand connected instantly with her kneecap, sending pleasurable shivers down her spine.

"Why did we stop with denouncing the whole scam?" Cameron said, dropping shamelessly her gaze. Her statement was catastrophic, odious, heartbreaking for Chase, who was finally blissfully and allegorically happy, almost completely at ease.

"Allison-" Chase gulped audibly, his senses freezing with apprehension. Why would she desperately want to take risks?

"It's just the fact this thing is not fair. It might the best moment right now. I mean, they all think I'm gone again, hiding in some crazy outskirts. Maybe the element of surprise can be good for us," Cameron suggested, finally gathering enough courage to meet his stonily icy frown profusely consuming her words.

With her mouth hanging agape, she was waiting for the simplest act of comprehension, a reaction, a gesture. Her eyes filled consequently with tears when he wordlessly exited the room, combing his fingers through his hair with alluring nervousness.

* * *

The car ride was awfully silent. Cameron's confession came as a stab in Chase's flesh, hollowing the echoing gap in his heart even more, emptiness submerging him relentlessly.

Cameron's slim arms were neatly crossed in her lap, gravely wrinkling the black fabric that was tightly cradling her chest. Her head was bowed, waves of blonde strands were ineffably hiding her face, the minimal doze of fear still thumping loudly in her mind. It was beyond impossible for her to be discovered, but still that atrocious pessimism was overwhelming.

Chase could only eye her intently. He was awkwardly desperate to touch, to reassure, to chase away those ghostly forms that were leaving her painfully breathless and filled with anxiety. Even with the sudden fight they had that morning, he put his hand atop hers, never moving his sight from the road winding ahead.

It was that sort of gesture that didn't mean separation or disapproval, it was more like a silent promise that he would rethink, he would possibly accept this virtually insane proposal. There wasn't anything in his willpower he wouldn't do for love.

They reached the hospital in a matter of prolific minutes, both resting wordlessly. The way from the locker room to the diagnostics lounge was also tensioned, only the occasional glances and the massing or curving of the lips outweighing the sorrow, the meretricious, the negativity.

As always, House was sitting, almost lounged, on the chair at the end of the glass table, watching them stroll on the corridor. He couldn't help a sly grin.

"The ducklings going back to basics. That sounds pretty awesome. We should make a banner with it," House said laughingly, lounging on the chair and prompting his legs on the glass table. He was beyond delighted to put up his mask of camaraderie mockery, of exaggerated wisdom.

"Can you leave the mockery out, House? We both have had enough sorrow in the last weeks," Cameron sneered, seating herself on a chair right next to House's persona. Behind a placard of grey makeup and unshed tears, her eyes were betraying some mad attitude, this newly found rigidity.

"Pitchy as always. This is the usual Cameron we all know and love," House said acidly, watching her fondle with the leathery cover of the file, angriness fueling Cameron's boiling insides.

"Come on, House, this is truly serious. We know your act from the beginning until the very end," Cameron replied just as mendaciously, her flint-blue eyes gleaming with mischief. House's arms collapsed onto his chest, his mouth carelessly hanging ajar.

"Okay, tiger, just calm down and retract your claws," House sneered, watching Cameron sitting still, her icy, passive stare never shifting. "Well, the coast is clear today, people. You can start by completing my clinic hours," He ordered, showing off a triumphant chagrin.

"Fine," Chase huffed, turning around solemnly and marching towards the entrance. "Allison, you're not coming?" He asked, turning around with his eyebrows knitted in profound confusion.

"I'll be right behind you, I promise. See you downstairs," She answered vehemently, flashing the ghost of a languid smile.

Chase left, despite feeling a sense of dread coiling in the deepest pit of his stomach. Cameron was acting oddly mysterious, making him fear the worst. Walking silently towards the clinic, a million of scenarios ran through the most remote chambers of his brain. He just wanted her to remain private, profusely hiding what happened recently and burying the shaky and dreary past.

Cameron lounged over the desk, eying House with ferocity. Some few strands were cradling her face, half hiding the wilderness that was ready to explode from her lips.

"Do I have to remind you that you were the one who managed to destroy my marriage?" She spat, arching back into a standing position and folding her hands.

"I believe it was an equal job from both of us," House retorted quickly and acidly. He had always been like that, motivated to defend himself even in the most tragic and self-guiltily moments.

"I wasn't the one who ruined him from the first moment. You made him unable to see right from wrong," Cameron said in reply, raising her tone. She was beyond determined to avoid the same torment, the same hypocritical game of chances and movable responsibilities.

"I didn't play with his heart, either. Dragging him in the janitor's closet, giving him false hope, moving in together out of guilt and the list goes on," House attacked vivaciously, as though trying to convince Cameron of her own forestalling, spoil.

"We are both responsible, I admit. We just have to focus on avoiding to do the same mistakes all over again," Cameron said more calmly, the shield of her arms falling apart, softening progressively along with her defense.

"We have a deal," House agreed with reluctance. His eyes were still transfixing her, the nervous tap of his foot against the crystalline floor echoing in the room.

Cameron left reverently, her head slightly bowed to the side. House's frowned gaze followed her, the crack of his fingers pointing out his horrid nervousness. What had just happened?

* * *

The clinic was just as clustered with people as it used to be even with the sun slowly descending, shadowing the entryway with its pervading darkness.

Some reddish, seemingly bloodshot circles surrounded Cameron's eyes as she was rapidly heading to the nurses' station, her heels clicking mutely in the cacophony of sounds.

Chase was sitting, supported by the edge of the reception, waiting for her ultimate appearance. He was seemingly fresh and eager, as though that night of continuous and distressing work had never occurred.

"Hey. Ready for dinner?" Cameron chirped adorably as she approached him. Her scratchy, slightly swollen elbow sat on the very edge of the white, marble table.

"Actually House sent me this file earlier and wants both of us to have a look at it," Chase said nonchalantly, never raising his sight.

Cameron frowned deeply. She had never seen him this absorbed, particularly at such late hours. Her eventual appearance would always strike an inner string, a kind of immediate, pleasurable reaction.

"A new case?" She asked reverently. Her mind was somehow wandering, unable to follow the scribbled limes of the file.

"Probably. He didn't say much," Chase said groggily in return, his attention remaining undivided.

"Off we go. 24-month old, symptoms-" Cameron started reading from the file. The words were flowing freely, consequently, a formless kind of dread was churning low in her belly. This hideous feeling was just unstoppable.

"I think we should start with a blood work. In this way, we can rule out at least some of the most serious infections or diseases. Then, we can start the real DDX," Chase suggested eagerly, following the conventional way. He was baffled to see Cameron completely silenced, almost anxiously frightened.

"Chase, take a better look at the symptoms," Cameron said, exhaling a deep, interrupted breath. Her fingers were shaking voraciously. "They are exactly the same as in an abuse of the drug I once tested. They discovered us," She concluded with stoic fear lacing her statement.

Cameron shut her eyes hermetically, trembling horrifically. Could their world be crashing down after they were sure they had found bliss? That question danced across her dried lips.

Chase was touched by the crisis unfolding in front of him as well. For a brief second, he closed his eyes and licked his rosy lips. Unconsciously, he wrapped his slender fingers around Cameron's forearm, drawing her in his immediate proximity. They were one for the other, desperately clinging for even the slightest drop of support.

"Clear the way! We have a critical patient!" A chorus of rushing paramedics urged, leaving behind the bang of the ajar doors. The gurney was carrying a small, perilously fragile girl, with auburn strands crawling around her lifeless figure.

The pallor in her round cheeks seemed sickening, her limbs were totally unmoving. Even for someone qualified, like Chase and Cameron, the view would make an impression.

"House would say coincidences do not exist. And I have to agree this time," Chase whispered. This words came out in a hush, fear and terror marking them.

Without knowing, his fingers wrapped tightly around Cameron's forearm. For the first time, in weeks, that shiver of apprehension and awareness shook Chase again.

 **Author's Note:** I know I kind of disappeared, but my life went totally crazy. I had stacks and stacks of books to study, so I went through a time of exhaustion, when I couldn't get myself to write even a phrase. Here's another chapter since vacation has just started! :)

Read and Review!


	14. Chapter 14 - Difficult

Phoenix

T.V. Show: House MD

Pairing: Chase/Cameron

Author: Foxes' Dreams

Summary: Tense with the anguish of spiritual struggle, Chase is no longer able to defeat the trauma of being alone. Even though he had been missing Cameron's cautious whispers of innocence and complexity, her return might be the real approach of doom.

* * *

Chapter 14 - Difficult

The next morning was grey, damp and foggy, projecting all the anxious misgivings in its lead-hued clouds. Inside, between the glass doors, the tension was intensifying as the antecedent facts became unsolvable.

"So, this toddler seems completely fine and by next morning, she suddenly collapses?" House challenged, the entangled subject sounding more like a joke on his tongue. He was also rolling his cane neurotically in the air. "Apart from the tuberculosis which she was diagnosed with years ago, nothing looked abnormal, until her skin turned yellow?" House's eyebrows shot up with freezing disdain.

"And she runs a fever. It may point to a liver infection, like hepatitis," Chase suggested, muffling the sentence while sipping some freshly-brewed coffee.

"I think we should look at the greater cause first. She seized after her fainting episode, so it might as well be neurological," Cameron said, trying in vain to prevent the presented facts from disheartening. Her eye-sight was glassy impassive.

"Acute intermittent porphyria can explain that and it's constant with the malaise and abdominal pain," Foreman also intervened, partially breaking the imponderable air with a theory so distant from Chase and Cameron's.

"The urticaria on her arm is actually not explicable. Hepatitis does not cause such skin lesions," House argued back, firing back the words with gratuitous rudeness.

"All of those paired with anemia make no sense. It's incredibly rare for someone to have two diagnoses and one symptom left out," Foreman pointed, progressively discovering a discontinuity. The shriek of the marker against the board was annoyingly acute.

"And also, there's rigidity in her left wrist. That might be the early stage of arthralgia," Cameron said, indicating exactly the plausible scenario. Their charade was slowly crumbling.

"You, ducklings, are putting on such a nice show. But, in the same time, this hide-and-seek game is dangerous for the patient. So, spill it out before I become the one who says it," House angrily ordered. Abruptly standing up, he limped around, head bowed with boiling despotism.

Chase and Cameron exchanged a fugitive glance, the greedy grasp of a chill traversing both of their spines. Foreman was mostly oblivious to what was actually unfolding.

"So, if no one has anything to confess, go test the girl's liver," House half-barked, a huff mixing with that inhuman shout. "Maybe something poignant comes out," He added grimly, exiting the room with large steps.

Foreman followed obediently, heading towards the patient's room whilst Chase and Cameron were still frozen, the jarring rebuke echoing in their minds.

* * *

Chase was sitting at the lengthy glass table, looking at an old file sheepishly while devouring a cheesy and steaming sandwich. It felt like one of the ordinary days, when no shrilling alarm was starting to beep, no patient was on the verge of death.

"Hey, do you have a minute?" She asked in a strangled voice. Her office clothes looked really crumpled and untidy, a mess of purple and black fabrics sticking to her tired limbs.

"Yeah, sure. What's up?" Chase asked back, feeling the volume of his lunch turning and churning audibly.

"Well, how are we going to deal with this? It's useless to cover it up. It will be suspicious if one of us comes with the idea of forged medicine," Cameron said, her voice pitifully stagnating at a low pitch. Her blue eyes were shining with nervous, unconsummated energy.

Chase swallowed dryly, the contents slipping through his tract with leering speed. "We can start easy. Like go test her for sideroblastic anemia, maybe go for a neurological consultant. And when we see the missing oxygen from the cellular layer, we have a string to attach ourselves to," He said, smiling with kind innocence, lousily soothing the erratic female.

"And torture the little girl in the process," Cameron retorted acidly, the tedious, grey gloom pervading her still-young features. She sat down ungracefully, her weight crashing the finely sculptured metal chair.

"Poking her marrow is barely torture. We have plenty of anesthesia to use," Chase replied nonchalantly, his charade of ennobling personality remaining the same.

"If you say so," Cameron shrugged, intermingling her slender fingers in an attempt to think, to create a plausible scenario.

"Maybe it's just a sick twist of fate. Her case might as well be irrelevant," Chase continued, venturing all the aggravated plots with ignorance. He simply resumed his fast, precarious meal.

"Not at all. Daughter of two reporters, who went for an investigation project in Africa. Both died of dysentery with amoebic parasites. The child was left behind, contracted tuberculosis, was treated with that drug," Cameron argued back, her resilient spirit rushing back to the surface. She slumped against the backrest.

"So, we are screwed," Chase muffled through a generous -almost greedy- chunk of food, eying her with lethargic resignation.

"Not necessarily," Cameron vainly reassured. Her head span to her sides, eyes dilating with mischief and fear. "Foreman is coming. Talk to you sometime later," She said simply, with scoffing defiance.

Cameron began strolling towards the exit, briefly stopping to plant a seclusive peck on Chase's lower cheek. A timid, but somehow vigorous blush spread on his responsive skin, lavishly enjoying the ponderous display of affection.

Foreman stormed in the chamber moments after her disappearance, looking distressed and slightly cross.

"Man, is there something you and Cameron are hiding away from me?" He barked, his harsh words pointing directly towards the precise target. "As Dean of Medicine, I can reveal all this scam with the supposedly dead ex-wife, if you don't tell me exactly what are you both running away from," He continued, retaining an improvising, inadvertent posture of a leader.

Chase stood up, striding rapidly towards the minibar. All he wanted was to be exculpatory prudent, to control his shifting demeanor. "We aren't running away from anything. It's just - it's hard for us to treat a child. You know, with her inability to have children," He muttered, stubbornly keeping his back turned.

"I know. But, then why does everything smell putrid to me?" Foreman accused, sticking his palms to his sides, some impudent knowingness radiating off his posture.

"You're just overwhelmed by all the responsibilities. It's hard, I know, to be taking the plunge into hiring a runaway," Chase replied blindly, turning around cautiously. A kind of groundless fear was pumping in his bloodstream.

"Funny you, pretty boy," Foreman sneered. "I'm just warning you. If something turns out to be your manufacture, it's not going to end good," He added, a stoic professionalism crisping all this facial features.

"I promise," Chase said, a disconcerting sensation gripping his insides. "Boss".

The ironic rebound made Foreman chuckle, beaming with pride. He walked out of the room, a frosty calmness clouding his judgement. He could trust Chase.

* * *

The sun was progressively setting, night blending in the reddish spectrum of dusk. Despite the serenity outside, three doctors were thriving to find a suitable diagnosis, writhing in anguish of sharp confusion.

"The little girl has been poisoned with something," Chase said timidly, playing with the extreme margin of his white sleeve.

"Wow, that's new. Usually it takes a couple of days and at least one cardiac arrest to get the diagnosis right," House mocked from his adjacent room, sensing every flash of witty irrelevance. A common soccer match was unfolding before his eyes, on a small, blurred screen.

"First of all, we spotted the low oxygen level in her tissues," Cameron began to explain, agitating to make up a comprehensive explanation.

"And while she got up to go to a procedure room, she had podagra, the great toe," Chase added, eying Cameron with subdued, but still present apprehension.

"Not a symptom recognized by the medical college," Foreman argued, flipping the clipped page of the medical file. He kept on reading with maddening commodity.

"Yes, but the presence of monosodium urate crystals in her synovial fluid is," Chase replied, filling in all the gaps either of them would idly imply.

"Great, so we have a small head start," Foreman said, closing the file with an irritant slap. The strain was excessive, the atmosphere significantly tensed.

"Doctor Dolittle, remember that we have to target the exact thing that is in excess. We can't just poke around and treat blindly," House intervened, inserting his usual dose of desultory mockery. His eyes never moved from the direction of the minimal TV.

"We have made some research and it looks like a modified form of pyrazinamide can trigger such symptoms," Cameron sighed, fully aware of the magnitude that had been disclosed. Her mood became jaded, restless.

"Very interesting how you discovered this so randomly," House retorted, limping heroically in the main room. "Even alphabetically, it would have take a hell lot of time," He cocked an eyebrow, a plethora of ideas surging through his mind. The puzzle pieces were falling back into place.

Chase and Cameron dropped their gazes, feeling how their enigmatic labor of hiding was turning into a disillusionment. Even Foreman showed an embossed grimace. Everything was simply crumbling.

"Treat her with Dextrose 10. And make her eat lots of carbohydrates," House ordered vehemently, snapping the team from their haze of shame and inaccessible solitude. "Prepare to talk once you're back. If I start to dig in, it's going to be way worse."

Involving another person was a trickery, a melodramatic complication, but it was necessary. Cameron shed a single tear on her way to the patients' wing. The past was still alive.

* * *

Chase arrived home at midnight, weary and distressed, constantly dissecting and rethinking all the deep-toned lamentations of the case.

Walking into the dim, exotically perfumed bedroom, he spotted Cameron sitting on the master bed, leg crossed. He instantly slumped on the other side, watching the moon waning, drowning in the nightly spotlight.

"How's the little patient doing?" Cameron asked, combing the frontal strands with her hand, never taking her flint-blue eyes off the chart.

"Great, considering the fact we had just administered her those drugs. Although, we have a lot to deal with the two wolves at work," Chase said, rolling on one side to watch all her uncoordinated, erratic actions.

"I worked in research, it was normal for me to study abnormal substances. Nothing poignantly weird," Cameron replied, puffing indolently as if she was debating a matter internally.

"Yeah. Well, House won't buy the fact that this is a simple coincidence," Chase shrugged, drumming his fingers along her exposed collarbone, engaging in the dazzling, ecstatic sensation.

"I know. Maybe he'll let it slip," Cameron said with disinterest dancing on her lips.

"Why would he do that? It's House after all," Chase frowned, sensing her disgruntled, offensive shift in attitude.

"He obviously observed that Foreman knows the whole affair. He'll just dig in the problem without saying a word. Just some subtle knee-jerk reaction," Cameron said, dodging the major consequences their complex hide-and-seek game might imply.

A few minutes passed in awkward silence, ignoring the radiant beauty of the sky. After studying her aggravate features, Chase chose to verbalize the question drumming in his mind.

"What are you doing?" He inquired honestly.

"I'm studying the little girl's file," Cameron replied mindlessly, still absorbed by the unbearable complexity of the file.

"Reached a different conclusion?" Chase asked again, leaning on one soft-skinned elbow.

"Yes, kind of," Cameron answered with conquering courage. "I want to adopt her," She announced so calmly as if it was a stereotypical commonness.

Chase gasped, and shook his head with unnerving, strong aversion. His heart dropped in the pit of his stomach, the shock coming like a sickening, inner tornado.

 **Author's Note:** Finally back. The past few months have been so stressful, almost desperate. I had problems getting my motivation back up, managing my fear to be wrong and even hearing harsh comments regarding my efforts. Despite all, I want to become better and mostly, that's why I'm getting back on board.

Read and Review! :*


	15. Chapter 15 - Opposite

Phoenix

T.V. Show: House MD

Pairing: Chase/Cameron

Author: Foxes' Dreams

Summary: Tense with the anguish of spiritual struggle, Chase is no longer able to defeat the trauma of being alone. Even though he had been missing Cameron's cautious whispers of innocence and complexity, her return might be the real approach of doom.

* * *

Chapter 15 - Opposite

The momentary silence grew heavy, almost stolid. Chase's mouth hung agape, he was vainly trying to process the sheer weight of what Cameron had just uttered.

A wave of aversion washed over him. He noticed the regularity, the insane reason behind any of her exaggerated, heroic gestures.

"Allison, you can't be serious. You can't just take every sick, injured puppy and mend it. You have to let it go at a certain point," Chase scoffed angrily, launching himself off the margin of the canopy bed, stomping submissively.

"Why? After this case ends, I'll still be in the same situation. Damning every single day of my lie based on the fact that I've been scarred for life," Cameron responded just as maniacally, utilizing the tenacious argument that could elicit only pity from him.

"I'm going to be here. I made a promise and I won't break it. I even said that in my vows," Chase said calmly this time, desperately wanton to avoid another heated discussion.

Inside Cameron's mind, the fine thread of indulgence snapped and riot overwhelmed her. "Yeah, and look how that turned out. We drifted apart either way. I need something permanent," She pointed venomously.

"Don't dare accuse me of that. You left. I chose House and you simply left," Chase retorted acidly, slamming his masculine palm on the nearby dresser.

"Because you committed a murder. You shouldn't leave that out. Do you know how many nights I expected you to come to Chicago, with a bouquet of roses and a pouty face?" Cameron jumped upwards, the springs crying in protest as metals scraped furiously against rigidity.

"Would that have changed anything?" Chase asked incredulously. His heart was erratically thumping, flippant images of a different outcome flashing before his sea-blue eyes.

"Of course. I would have been opened to talk to you, sort things out," Cameron said in a soothing manner, the nakedness and flamboyant honesty of her confession shaking Chase deeply.

"Adopt her. By yourself," Chase announced sharply, involuntarily striding towards the door. "It looks like I'm not deserving either way," He left wordlessly, the rapid, disturbing bang of the mahogany door mixing with Cameron's shuddering sob.

Chase wandered aimlessly through the town, the frigid rain soaking his golden locks and tingling his derma with unbearable coldness and unmasked guilt. The streets were deserted, dimly lit, feeding his soul with blossoming solitude. His mind was a jumble of negativity, unable to distinguish the cruel passage of time. He spent countless hours of inner meditation on a lonely bench, the bitter coldness crisping his skin, but refreshing his stale, weary mind. As the dark orange dawn merged, his feet conducted him to PPTH, to the retreating spot where any personal issue would dissolve in labyrinthine DDX and endless stacks of paperwork.

The sky outside put on the purple, dark-hued panoply of the evening, another gush of autumnal rain approaching fast. Cameron was nowhere to be seen. Foreman was mundanely flipping the pages of the dictionary. Everything seemed empty, devoid of its daily balance.

"So, ducklings, or just the two ones left, we have a new case. 42-year old male presented to the clinic with severe vomiting, diarrhea and sweating," House entered the diagnosis room, carelessly throwing separate files to his subordinates. His mood was obviously jaded, though somehow stimulated by this new medical mystery.

"It could be a simple case of enterococcus or food poisoning. Why so much emphasis on this guy?" Chase said, evicting the case with sneering conviction.

House eyed him suspicious, but sealed his curiosity between his lips with a short snort.

"Have you seen this guy, Doctor Chase? I assume not. Well, he has an oxidation sign on his ring finger and scars across his shoulders. That points to a single fact," He insisted, thoroughly enjoying the continuous roll of irises and suppressed grunts.

"Nothing medically relevant," Foreman said aggressively, pouring out all the expeditionary force he could muster.

"Oh, I beg to differ, Doctor Foreman. All the signs lead to the fact that he has personality disorders," House replied, ironically highlighting their names. He shoved an arm in his lateral pocket and dragged out a reddish, plump lollipop.

"Based on the fact that he's got a few scratches and an improper hygiene," Foreman contraindicated again, allowing Chase to rot in his own deepening misery.

"The oxidation come from a cheap kind of gold, that means he wore a ring. The scratches resemble exactly the ones made by a defending person. He got aggressive, wifey dumps him," House explained, seeing how the two witnesses became busily engrossed.

"You think that's neurological?" Foreman asked pointedly.

"Not necessarily. Hyperpigmentation isn't a neurological issue," House replied simply, his mind already envisioning the most plausible condition.

"Addison's explains everything," Foreman suggested, ultimately concentrating on a case that now seemed cavernous, hazardous.

"The file says he had been diagnosed with chronic hypoparathyroidism. That isn't a complication for the usual type of Addison's," House pointed, remarkably remembering odd details presented in the file.

"Why wouldn't it be abnormal?" Foreman challenged, frowning.

"It's autoimmune polyendocrine syndrome 1," House revealed bluntly, savoring the dramatic fall of Foreman's seriousness. "Go stuff him with hydrocortisone and prednisone," He ordered, watching Foreman react immediately while Chase remained stationed, looking disoriented and sleep-deprived.

Almost synchronized with Foreman, Cameron burst through the narrow entrance. Her hair looked sickeningly oiled and her skin pale, the classic symptoms of sufferance.

"Not so fast. Our little girl-" She started to stay, her voice trembling.

"So cute, so motherly said-" House mocked, hitting a particularly sensitive spot.

"Stop that. Her condition was worse that we thought. She got massive doses of Pyrazinamide, more than a hundred milligrams," She announced slowly, exhaling only implacable doom. "She needs a new liver as soon as possible," Cameron continued, closing her eyes with vehement, tedious solemnity.

"Too bad I'm not God, I would have popped one instantly," House joked darkly, turning towards the uncomfortably clean blackboard.

Cameron exited the room with an exasperated huff, retreating in a laconic cocoon. Chase watched her leave the room and then followed closely. He was going to sort things out.

* * *

The lab seemed to be a torturous chamber, the chill of the pulsing ventilator sweeping Cameron's most forlorn features crisping her face. Even work had become daunting, useless, a failing distraction. The mute, scratching-like sound of the glass door didn't even ignite the slightest reaction.

Chase occupied the high stool beside her, worry whizzing with cumulative fury on his face. "Hey, I'm sorry for overreacting the other day. I should have listened more, I should have understood-" He sighed profusely.

"Either way, I get your reaction. Adding a child in the equation is like reopening the wound. After all, that means endangering her life more than it already is," Cameron answered cautiously, carefully avoiding the violable spot. She desperately wanted to relish into peace, even for brief moments.

"Yeah," Chase accepted absently. After few seconds, irascibility arose again. "Wait. We are safe now. It's pointless to consider those people a risk," He said vigorously, eloquently turning her sculpted chin around to meet his unyielding stare.

"For how long are we going to be safe? Probably they're trying to figure out where I am," Cameron retorted gently, snapping her head back to its original position. Anxiety punched her violently, submerging her entire being, making her limbs tremble terribly.

"We offered them the perfect opportunity to find you and they didn't. I'm sure they have tracked me down after the conference. They haven't spotted anything," Chase replied, pouring out all the self-confidence he could muster. "We are and will be safe," He continued, stroking the upper side of her delicate cheek with feathery, languid movements.

"I truly hope that you're right," Cameron met his enamored gaze, pursing her lips together with weak liveliness.

"I am, love. You'll see that," Chase said soothingly, leaning to plant a chaste, shy peck on the same spot as before. He lingered there, inhaling the heavenly scent of her perfume mixed with bodily sweetness.

"So awfully sure of yourself, just as I remember," Cameron said, tracing her delicate fingertips along his stubble jaw. It was the first despoiled, fluttery gesture made in a long time.

"Fancy a copious dinner tonight?" Chase proposed, lofty warmth enveloping his stomach, like in the early stages of their relationship.

"You know we still can't go out to a restaurant. It's way too soon after my release," Cameron replied, methodically paying attention to the gels and glass utensils she was handling.

"Yeah, that's true. We shouldn't tempt fate," Chase huffed, exhaling a hissing murmur. "We can always order in," He smiled briefly.

"I really crave some pizza, actually. Just let me finish those gels and we'll head home," Cameron chirped, fully determined to enjoy at least one luxurious, self-pampering evening.

Chase looked around, sensing the lack of her whitened lab coat or disposable scrubs. „Where's your lab coat, by the way?"

"I might have left it in the diagnosis lounge. I'll go grab it on the way out," Cameron replied quickly, firing back an excuse that enfeebled her secrecy.

"I wonder how you're not freezing in here. The ventilator is sending snow, I swear," Chase commented further, some hurried eagerness propelling him to talk, to resolve any issue that might still lurk between them.

"I don't really feel it," Cameron replied, coldly avoiding his discussion. She was still trampling on inward protest, knowing inside that she had to come clean, especially for Chase.

Chase looked around again, noticing Cameron's skin turning an obviously sickening shade of purple around her elbow. He was confused, frowning incomprehension. He abruptly grabbed her arm and twisted it to get a better view of the coloristic source. Draped around the prominent ombré was a bloodied plaster, clearly hiding a healing wound.

"Allison, what's that on your arm?" He asked, worry lacing every word.

Cameron sighed in disarmed defeat, quickly removing her overly used glasses and rubbing her tired face furiously.

"I've tested myself to see if I can donate a lobe of my liver to the dying girl," She said, her clammy fingers squeezing the metal end of the table. "Turns out we are in match," Cameron announced grimly, letting out a sound that resembled an assiduous sob.

Chase continued to look at her incredulously. He had to choose his words carefully, not to cause another obtrusive fit of anger. "What are you going to do?" He asked half-silently, intently watching her facial features contort into a new reaction.

"I have no idea," Cameron admitted, avoiding his gaze again. Her brain was an intersecting jumble of contradictory emotions, all trying to gain dominance. "My mind tells me not to, my heart commands me to go book an OR right away," She admitted brokenly.

"Whatever you choose, I'll be right by your side," Chase said attentively, feeling the vibrant anxiety that was overwhelming Cameron. He had to be close, to prevent her from collapsing or from making an eminently wrong decision.

He gathered her in his arms, trying to comfort her, to chase away all the diabolic demons of insecurity.

It was a delicate situation that needed both of them. Chase was ready to face this challenge, since he knew that it would be the ultimate cure for her solitary, sorely beset soul, barely surviving with urgent haste running so wildly inside.

 **Author's Note:** Updates should come slowly, but steadily. Be prepared for another one next week.

Read and Review! :*


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